The Illusionist's Daughter
by soupofthedaysara
Summary: The circus has come to town. Amid the tatters of a once glorious spectacle, a macabre dance of power, desperation and envy unfolds. The Illusionist's daughter has a curious gift, one young Tom Riddle must possess and destroy.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is the property of their respective creators.

The Illusionist's Daughter

Prologue

London, September 1938

The circus had come to town. The red-and-white tent sprawled across the dingy train yard just beyond London's east end slums like a sad beast, flags whipping along the spine in the autumn bluster. From the size it was evident this had once been a grand spectacle. Now it wore a down-at-the-heels weariness like the rest of the world. Depression, impending war. Life.

Act after act of tired performers marched before his scrutinizing gaze. Zombie-like, just going through the motions, smiles painted across their faces, pretending joy, laughter. He watched their eyes, emotion unguarded there. Desperation, boredom, envy, resignation. Or nothingness.

Until.

A faint smile curled the side of his tightly pressed lips. His dark eyes sparkled with glee as the juggler missed and grabbed the knife by the blade instead of the handle. The blank stare faltered, the smile slipped. Then pain. Blood. The boy smiled fully.

The acrobats: a slip here, a tumble there. Tightrope walker: a near blunder. Near disaster. Not enough to harm, just to startle and shake things up a bit. They were like puppets in his very own show. Now this was a circus!

He glanced around him. The gasps and applause. It seemed everyone else was enjoying his circus as well. Everyone, that is, except the performers. And their boss. What fun!

The hulking ringleader stepped into the ring, scowling, as the juggler hurried off cradling his bleeding hand. The next act was announced. Magic. "Show time," thought the boy with unreserved malice. A man, thin and tall, dressed in a dark suit and evening cape took a low bow in the center ring, sweeping a top hat theatrically before him. He stumbled ever so slightly. A slight little waif of a girl appeared from behind him and steadied him by the elbow. The magician looked down at her with annoyance clear upon his once-handsome, now gin-soaked, features. But when he looked up to the crowd, his face was all charm.

The man spoke, but the boy was no longer paying any attention. The girl. There was something...electric. He could feel it vibrating the air in the tent, prickling along the back of his neck. And he felt something tug. She was compelling to watch, even as she stood silently by, not moving. He found himself willing her to look up, to meet his eyes. But she would not obey, her gaze unflinchingly locked on the dusty ground.

A buzzing made him aware of the crowd and the silly illusionist pantomiming magic. It seemed the crowd was booing! He frowned. The man was blundering all on his own. Shaking his top hat upside down, it seemed what he had intended to reveal had instead vanished. He peered myopically into the black void of silk, then gave a vacant smile and shrug. The ringmaster's face turned as red as his coat. Someone threw a bag of popcorn.

The girl looked up and took one sure step forward. The crowd hushed as she picked up the greasy paper bag. Curiously, she began to fold it with nimble fingers. The boy frowned. What on earth was she doing? In a moment she had wrought a tiny origami crane and held it up on her pale palm.

Snap! Something like a jolt racked his lanky frame. He imagined it would feel similar to be struck by lightning. Blinking back stars, he shook his head to clear the buzzing. And then he could only stare. Jaw hanging open in pure and utter disbelief.

The paper crane that roosted upon her little hand flapped its wings and took flight, transforming itself into a delicate and beautiful bird. It wheeled and soared higher and higher, looping through the trapeez rigging and swooping low again over the crown. Cries of glee and wonder errupted like fireworks. Shouts and whoops of laughter rang in his ears, but he sat silently watching. Her eyes tracked the elegant bird with a quiet, serene smile. Finally the avian wonder dipped low and settled gracefully on her outstretched palm, once more a paper creation. The little girl folded the paper primly and tucked it into a pocket of her plain black frock. She looked up and locked eyes with the boy. His breath was stolen by pure wonder...and fear.

As the crowd jostled its way into the evening air, he searched. His eyes darted over the curly heads and bows and sailor hats of the other children. There, some dark hair and a pale face. But not the right girl. Another and another, but none who gave him that unmistakeable feeling. He could feel pure magic, like one could feel electricity when sticking a finger in a socket. But until today, he had only felt that feeling when he himself had done little tricks and enchantments. She, however, made him dizzy with the power of it.

And he couldn't feel it anymore. The disappointment was bitter. He scuffed his hand-me-down brown boot in the dust and kicked a rose some peddler must have dropped or some sweetheart had callously discarded. He picked up the wilted bloom, a rose that was turning from the deepest red to a decaying black at the petal's edges. As he gazed at the flower, it quivered a little as he concentrated. The blackness slowly seeped out of the petals altogether, replaced by a red the rich color of fresh blood.

He forced his gaze away as his vision wavered slightly. Dizziness. Curious, he thought. Weakness was not something he allowed himself. Ever. And then he turned. She was standing there.

They stood there for a moment, staring. Holding up the rose, he offered it to her. A whisper of a smile played at her lips. He felt a strangeness he had never felt before. He was surprised by how much pleasure it gave him when she took the rare flower with one small hand, gloved in simple white cotton. A drop of scarlet slid from one petal onto the snow of her perfect finger. She tilted her head slightly and studied the dark stain. Her other hand, tucked away in the pocket of her dress, emerged with a red and white striped object. Thin and smooth. He recognized it immediately. He reached for what she offered. She set the tiny crane in his palm. He studied its perfect lines. It was magnificent. He formed the words to say so.

When he looked up once more, she had disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to their respective creator. This story will draw on themes from the following: _The Night Circus,_ by Erin Morgenstern and Sara Gruen's _Water For Elephants._

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter One

An Auspicious Beginning

Outside Salisbury, February 1935

Thunk.

She kicked the bench with the heel of her too-tight boot, thunk, thunk. Over and over and over. Her eyes scanned the dingy, moldering canvas of the tent. It smelled old and wet. Fog drifted like aimless ghosts through the narrow flap. Pale morning light filtered through the frosty air. The day was only minutes old but she could hear the men at work already, hammering the long steel spikes into the frozen ground. Clank, clank, clank.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

Her boot hit the wooden bench in time with the hammer strikes. Tucking her chin deeper into the high collar of her scratchy wool coat, she closed her stinging eyes. She was tired and cold. Her nose and lungs burned with each icy breath. To wait, that had been her only instruction. Sit on this bench and wait. She hadn't moved since arriving when the moon was high in the clear, hard sky.

Thunk, thunk.

The wind whipped through the tent flaps, flipping the note pinned to her coat up against her face. She slid one hand from her pocket and smoothed the crinkly paper down. She opened her eyes and looked at the scrawl of words again. She could tease no meaning from the black lines and loops. She didn't know who it was for or what it was about. Just that it was important. Mama had told her that much. And she must not lose it. She tucked her hand back into the still warm pocket of her coat.

Thunk, thunk. Thunk ...

The sound of voices suspended her foot mid-kick. She listened as the sound grew closer. Two men were talking. Arguing. Her shoulders tightened and she held her breath.

"I don't know, Frank," said a voice sharp with agitation. "But can't stay in there is all I do know."

Shoes scuffled to a stop just outside. "How'd it get here?" another voice spoke with equal disdain. A gnarled hand reached through the opening and parted the tent flaps. A grizzled head with a white wisp of a beard and a chewed stump of a cigar dangling between an incomplete set of yellowed teeth peeked through. The man's eyes widened in shock. Another face appeared shoving aside the first. This one was considerably younger, although well worn. Dark hair lacquered with grease rose neatly over dark eyes that were bloodshot with weariness or drink. Or both, more likely. The obsidian eyes took her in succinctly then narrowed skeptically. Both faces withdrew hastily, the flaps falling back into place. Their shadows, however did not retreat. They remained just outside.

"Never seen it before," one said to the other. "Not mine. Not my problem!"

A snort followed this pronouncement. "'S got your name on, don't it?"

"Doesn't mean anything," the first man countered angrily.

The other man waited a beat and then spoke in a hushed, soothing tone. "Listen, Frank," he spoke around the cigar stump, "even if I believed that, these 'ere are the facts: there's a kid sittin' in my office that looks an awful lot like you, takin' up my valuable time when there's work that needs doin'. I got a circus to set up an' you gotta get her outta here before the Baron gets word a' this and cuts us both out!" He ended on a shout.

"But what am I to do with her?" the second man pleaded.

"'Taint my problem to be solvin', is it now?" she could hear him call as he shuffled away from the tent. The second shadow had not moved, however and after a moment she heard a great sigh. The tent flap lifted away once more and the man with the dark hair and eyes entered the space.

He was tall, she noted, looking up much more than she wanted to. Her chin lifted out of her warm collar and let a flood of icy air invaid her coat. She stared openly. His dark, bloodshot eyes stared back at her cooly. She could see now that his neat black hair was shot through with gray at the temples and he had creases along his brow and around his eyes. Once he must have been a regal figure. Sharp, angular features had over the years become too acute, too pronounced. His broad, once-stately shoulders sagged. He seemed tired and somewhat sad. Like a wilted flower. Or a bedraggled cat.

He studied her as intensely. His cold gaze took her in. Finally he tugged the letter off of her coat and frowned. In a crisp, disdainful tone he read:

_This is Cora, your daughter. She needs a home. I will be gone by the time you read this. Be kind to her. She will be of great value to you if you have patience. Do not fail her as you have failed me._

_Anna_

When he had finished, he crumpled the paper in his fist and closed his eyes tightly. Only a brief moment had passed and once again his cool gaze was on her again. "Well," he said, sounding more annoyed than ever, "it seems I am your father." It was unceremoniously said, and she did not know how to respond. She remained silent and still. "I am Franco Barconi, the Magnificent," he added with a flourish. He paused for some reaction. He was disappointed. "Tough crowd."

He rocked back on his heels and waited for her to speak. "Christ," he swore to himself, "this is a nightmare! What am I supposed to do with you?" He turned sharply and began pacing the small space. "The Baron won't like it. He'll insist your room and board come out of my pay, thin as it already is! If he lets you stay at all. He may just cut us _both_ out." He froze and glared at her with uncontained malice. "And you're a mute idiot, to boot!"

She felt her face become red and then it happened. The pop of glass made them both jump. A spool of electric lights waiting to be hung in the big top shattered behind him. He whirled to look at the sparkle of broken glass on the ground, then whipped around to stare at her.

Eyes wide, she stared at him, frightened. She sunk back down into her collar and prayed to disappear. He took a cautious step toward her. "Did you..." he began but could not finish. He looked back at the glass. "Impossible. How?" he demanded. In a flash, he knelt before her and grabbed her roughly by the collar of her coat. She cried out in shock and fear. He shook her once roughly. "Tell me how you did it!"

"I'm sorry," she wailed as he shook her. "I didn't mean it."

Releasing her instantly, he stepped back.

"I was angry," she continued frantically. "It won't happen again! I promise!"

"No," he cooed in an imitation of something more soothing, but he could hardly contain himself. "I am not angry with you, silly girl!" His tone was now cloying, coaxing. "What you did was amazing!" He began pacing again. "Think of what I...we...could do with such a thing, why we could leave this sewer of a circus and make it big! We could be famous!" Stopping abruptly in front of her, he demanded. "Do it again!"

Eyes wide, she shook her head fast and cringed down into her coat like a turtle ducking in its shell. "I can't."

He scowled but endeavored to keep his voice pleasant. "Why ever not? Go on, no one will mind. We have boxes and boxes of these silly lights!" Not exactly the truth, but that wasn't the important thing.

Misereably, she closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Okay," he tried again, "do something else." He looked around and grabbed the first thing his fingers touched. It was a big round hoop. "Here." He held aloft the hoop. "Do something!"

Her brow wrinkled under a thick curtain of black hair. "What?" she said in a small voice.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Something...anything."

"I can't."

He dropped his arm, but his fingers fisted hard around the metal hoop. Gritting his teeth, he hissed. "Can't or won't."

Taking a big breath, she stared at the hoop. "It's not...easy. I don't really control it. I can't _make_ it happen. It just...happens."

He nodded considering this. "We can work with that." His tone evened once more into the silky practiced persuasion he'd plied before. "You will have to work very hard, though." Now he was the consumate professional. "It is not a simple matter, becoming a star."

"So I can stay!" She was so excited, she bounced up onto her toes and clapped her hands in front of her. In the same instant the man made the most horrible sound of shock and agony. She slapped her hands over her face. "Sorry!" she wailed between her fingers, cringing for the backlash.

The man was shaking his hand and swearing with fervor. The hoop he had been holding blazed mightily at her cry of joy, burning his hand. He dropped it and the flames immediately died away. "I must be insane," he groused, scowling and stepping toward the tent's entrance. "Well at least you're not a mute," he muttered. "Whether you are an idiot remains to be seen." He pulled the canvas aside and motioned for her to follow. She picked up her small battered case and stepped into the morning light.

She blinked into the brightness and her breath caught in her chest. Before her rose an enormous leviathan of red and white, stripes climbing higher and higher as man and beast pulled and tugged and struggled as one. The great dragon was opening its eyes to a new dawn ready to thrill and awe another crowd.

"Welcome," Franco called grandly from behind her, "to the Majestic Circus, the most majestic specatale on the face of the earth!"


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling. All the rest is mine. Please check out _The Night Circus _by Erin Morgenstern and Sara Gruen's _Water For Elephants_, two fantastic novels which inspired this story.

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Two

Lessons

London, September 1938

The stub of the pencil moved lightly over the page, gently shading angles and lines that seemed burned into his brain. He had been drawing the same image, over and over, for weeks now. It was compulsion. Every time he feverishly sketched and scribbled, he came a little closer, he thought, to ridding himself of the nuisance. What a relief that would be, he mused as his hand moved as if on its own. Not to think of her. It would be bliss.

When he closed his eyes it was her eyes he saw. Her hair, her shy smile. He tried to capture that same expression, the small lips upturned just so. But it never turned out quite right. There was just something so... magic about that moment. Behind this page were several more copies just like it, just carbon on smooth paper. No life, no feeling. Try as he might, he could not recapture that heady feeling of magic.

He frowned and lifted his pencil. Placing a hand over his shirt pocket, he felt it. Just the faintest spark was left in it. Red and white striped paper, folded into a tiny crane. The only tangible evidence he had, proving that she was, indeed, real.

The day after the girl had given him the paper bird he'd raced back to the spot just outside of the city, a dingy fair ground that had seemed like another world to him before. It stood empty, no trace of the circus left. Not even a peanut shell or candy wrapper tumbling along the ground. It was lonely and sad and ordinary.

She had disappeared.

Removing the little origami shape from his pocket, he smoothed it flat across the diary he'd been sketching in. It still smelled of popcorn. He stood it up on the page and whispered a secrect only it could hear. The paper wings fluttered a little and stilled. He frowned. Pressing his lips, he hissed at it with more force. The paper rippled and settled into a shape a little more feathery than before. A tiny black eye blinked at him. He smiled.

A scuffling sound broke his concentration. Two boys came into the room, laughing and jostling each other. He picked up the bird and tucked it carefully back into his pocket. The two stood in front of him before he could close the book and hide it safely away.

"What's this, Tom?" the older of the two spoke as he snatched the page out of the diary. The boy whistled and showed it to his companion. "She's pretty. Not quite your type, though. Seeing as you fancy boys, an' all!" The two boys laughed loudly. The smaller of the boys shoved Tom hard on the shoulder, almost sending him to the floor.

Tom stood up, toppling the chair he'd been sitting on. "Give it back," he said coldly and evenly. But his eyes sparkled with malice.

The boy begain folding the paper. "I think I'll have this."

Tom felt the heady rush of power, savoring the electricity of it. He knew what was going to happen and a tiny smile escaped his icy control.

The boy screamed. He dropped the paper on the table and held up his bleeding hand. The web of skin between the thumb and forefinger had been sliced through nearly to the bone. The boy stared at his injury, going sickeningly pale. His eyelids fluttered and he almost sank to the ground, but his friend had grabbed him under the arm and held him up. The sound of blood hitting the paper on the table made a satisfying smack, smack, smack.

Tom gave into a full smile of glee. "Paper cut."

The smaller boy quickly ushered his friend from the room. "I'm telling on you, freak!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Tom did not watch them go. He smoothed out the stolen page, smearing blood across her perfect face. "Do," he called quietly after them. "Tell everyone."

Outside Cardiff, Wales, May 1935

She blew the thick black fringe of bangs out of her eyes. "I'm tired," she said weakly.

He did not even look up. Flatly, he demanded, "Again."

She stared at the candle and blinked once. Twice. The wick remained dark and cold. She scowled at it and gritted her teeth. Nothing. "It's too hard," she complained.

He slammed an open palm down on the table. The candle jumped and toppled over, rolling off the table and onto the wooden floor of the cramped boxcar that they called home. "No," he shouted. "Hard is sleeping in the gutter. Hard is going hungry. It's freezing to death in a stinking pile of trash." He turned his back to her. "Which is exactly where we'll end up if you don't concentrate."

A silent tear rolled down her cheek. She swiped it away with the back of her hand. It wasn't her intention to be so difficult, but what he asked of her was impossible. They had been at these lessons for months now. All she had managed was a weak spark that fizzled as soon as it had popped into being. And that had taken her four hours. Sure she had managed the odd miracle when she had been frightened or excited. But nothing that she could summon at will. Nothing she could control.

Her father only shook his head. He took a couple of aggitated paces and then left through the narrow rolling door. She knew he was off to find a drink. She hung her head miserably. He had bet a great deal on her only to discover that she was a losing gamble.

The Baron, Nicklaus Schroder, was a hard man. Her father had summoned up all the courage he possessed to ask permission to take her on as his apprentice. The Baron very nearly tossed them both out into the cold, but her father had convinced him of the great advantages and the very few drawbacks of this venture. The Baron had been reluctant, but had agreed. All of the cost, of course would be shouldered by her father. And this was how she repaid him.

It had all been terribly exciting at first, this adventure. Joining the circus, learning tricks in a magic show with her father. Franco Barconi, the Magnificent did fantastic sleight of hand and illusion. When he wasn't befuddled with gin and depression. And he was more befuddled lately than not. She had expected him to teach her what he knew. Instead, it seemed he wanted the impossible from her and would not relent until he got it.

She rubbed her neck and blinked her stinging eyes. Picking up the candle from where it had rolled under the crate that doubled as a table, sometimes a chair, she stood it up straight once more. She pulled her plain black dress over her head and folded it neatly beside the candle. Shivering a little in her thin cotton underthings, she turned the gas lantern by the door low and buried herself under the scratchy blankets and sacks that made up her bed in the corner of the car. She let her aching shoulders and back relax and listened to the steady thump, thump of her own heartbeat. Her father would not be back tonight, she knew. She wanted desperately for him to be proud of her.

Before drifting off to sleep, she stared absently at the shadows cast around the small space by the flickering flame from the candle on the table.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: All characters and situations found in Harry Potter are the property of J. K. Rowling. No money is being made from this story. Dialogue may deviate from canon. Just go with it!

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Three

Opening Act

Portsmouth, October 1935

Cora sat and polished a worn pair of black dress shoes, listening dutifully to her father. She rubbed the cloth over the surface monotonously, coaxing a shine from the old leather, but her hand froze mid-motion at something he said. Her brow wrinkled under her black fringe and she stared in confusion.

"But I thought you said it was important that we didn't tell anyone," she reminded him. "Especially not the Baron!" It had been drilled into her head from almost the moment she'd arrived. Her special talent was to be kept a secret. "You said it would be bad if he knew!" She was afraid of the stern, hard man who ruled their little world.

Her father stopped the furious pacing he'd begun nearly an hour ago. Frank stared at his daughter with an expression of sheer exasperation. "He won't know...exactly," he intoned impatiently. He continued pacing as he talked. "Trust me. Have I steered you wrong yet?"

She turned her frown back to the shoes and began polishing again. He hadn't really steered her anywhere yet. She just practiced and practiced night and day squirreled away in their little drafty boxcar. She hadn't been allowed anywhere near the show and she had feared that she would never be good enough to perform along side of her father in the big top. All she had been good for so far was an endless drudgery of pressing costumes, fetching props, cleaning their tiny quarters, and polishing shoes.

Frank smoothed out his narrow mustache and small triangle of a beard. As he paced, he gestured grandly trying to paint a picture of the new act he was planning. "You've come a long way," he complemented grudgingly. "We won't let on exactly what you can do or how you do it. In fact, I think it may be best if it seems as if you aren't doing anything at all!" He turned fully to face her and smiled at the brilliance of it. "You'll be able to try out your new tricks but nobody would have to know it was you doing them, you see?"

"I can be a part of your act, I can even do my magic...but it won't look like I'm doing it?" she repeated, confused. "Who will it look like is doing it all?"

Frank smiled brightly, "Me, of course!" He patted her shoulder roughly almost knocking her sideways as he rattled on excitedly. "It's what you always wanted, isn't it? Why I can see us now. Me, the dashing, mysterious magician. You the incompetent...I mean...innocent apprentice! You'll be decked out in ribbons and lace-the whole bit. You'll play a lass of about five or six. Very childish, very naiive."

"I'm seven," she said without looking up. He did not pretend to listen.

"Really ham it up. The audience will love it!" Again he stopped abruptly in front of her and clapped his hands together loudly. She jumped and dropped one shoe. It hit the ground with a thunk. "What do you say?" he very nearly begged.

Cora just shrugged her shoulders. "Sounds okay," she said finally.

"Splendid!" He bounced on his heels and rubbed his hands together. "We'll get to work right away. I'll just sort out the details over a quick drink," he finished with a familiar glint in his eye that she recognized right away. He wouldn't be back that night. She nestled back into her cushions and picked up the shoe once more and quietly began polishing, pushing the grimy rag over the surface.

A flash of annoyance crossed his face like lightning in a dark sky. He smacked her hand hard enough to make it sting. She yelped and looked up with shock and a little fear. "With magic!" he snapped at her, looking pointedly at her hands on the rag. He turned and disappeared through the door with a parting scowl.

She blew her hair out of her face with a huff and focused her concentration on the shoe moving the cloth over the surface without touching it. This was going to be a long night. But a little bubble of excitement had settled in her chest and she smiled a little. She was finally going to join the act!

It was nearly dawn when Frank stumbled back into the dim boxcar after a night of planning and drinking, mostly drinking. Cora watched as he blearily headed for the low cot. He tried to shake off his coat but it got tangled hopelessly around his elbows. She reluctantly left her burrow of blankets and pillows in the corner and shivered at the cold as she moved to help her father. He hadn't realized he'd been rescued from his coat before she had him hustled over to the cot, helping him off with his shoes.

He flopped back on the thin pillows and smiled to himself. She tried to slip his tie over his head but he shook her off and laughed merrily to no one in particular. "Won't be long, my girl," he slurred. The reek of gin was overwhelming and she gave up the tie for gone, stepping back. "We'll be off! Paris, Rome...maybe the Orient! Shhhkies the limit. We'll take our act and leave this backwater of a shhhircus!" Her eyes got wide and frightened. He was practically shouting. "The hell with the Bloody Baron! The hell with the lot of 'em!"

"Shhh!" she hissed violently. "You'll be sorry if someone hears you." She looked around, half expecting to see eyes peeping through unseen cracks. Tucking him in, she rested a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. "Just go to sleep."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "My Anna. What would I do without you."

She stilled for a moment. Mama. She knew now that she was gone, really gone, forever gone. Her old home was a memory. She tiptoed back to her nest amid a chorus of loud snores and settled in, breathing with difficulty around the stone that had settled in her chest. Trying in vain to close her eyes again, she tossed and turned. Leave again? She didn't know that was even possible! What was so wrong with the circus, anyway? She spent the rest of the night lying awake trying to imagine another life away from the Majestic.

London, August 1939

"Tom, you have a visitor!" The matron chirpped brightly as she held the door open. She smiled warmly, but her eyes shifted uneasily around the room and back to the stranger. Tom stared at her evenly watching her squirm blandly. She pushed the door wider and ushered in the strangest looking man Tom had ever laid eyes on.

He was tall with dark hair going to white all over and a longish beard to match. Behind thin, half-moon spectacles, blue eyes stared piercingly at him. He wore a gaudy purple suit with darker pinstriping that turned the man's otherwise scholarly appearance clownish. Tom settled back on his tidy bed, ready to be amused by this strange visitor. But when the man spoke, all mirth melted away and left Tom cold and wary.

"Hello, Tom," the man said easily, pulling up a wooden chair and sitting square in front of him. Tom bristled invisibly at the silent challenge. The man seemed too comfortable, too sure of himself for Tom's liking. He felt off balance, threatened. He said nothing and stared blankly back.

"My name is Professor Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore," he announced jovially, intending to draw the boy into a camaraderie like a fish with a lure. Tom did not bite. The man soldiered on unfazed. "I am a teacher at a very special school."

Tom watched as the professor leaned back in the chair and crossed a leg over his bent knee and clasped his hands together in front of him. Despite himself, Tom felt uncomfortably curious. And this man seemed all to aware of that fact. Smug.

"What kind of school," Tom heard his own voice speak but could not recall giving the comand to his traitorous lips.

The man smiled. "A school for boys and girls like you."

Tom frowned. "I'm not mad and I'm not going to some school for freaks and nutters." He practically hissed the words at the man.

The professor laughed openly. "Certainly not," he said through his chuckle. Dumbledore held his glare steadily and leaned forward a bit. "It is a school for magic."

That electric spark ran through him like a shock. It sent his mind racing in one direction. Her. He sat up bolt straight. "Magic." It was not a question but a confirmation.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, leaning back once more. "We've been keeping a close eye on you, Tom."

Tom frowned at this. It sounded more like an accusation than an endorsement. Tom drew his defenses back to him. "Why," he demanded.

Dumbledore laughed that infuriating laugh again. "You have potential, Tom. We think you could become a great wizard."

The boy could not help the self-satisfied glee that broke over his expression. Of course he was great. He had felt it for so long, that he was destined for something bigger, more important than a sad little orphan brat.

"We?" Tom asked. "How many, er, magicly inclined people are out there?" He heard the note of jealousy in his words.

Dumbledore watched him carefully. "Oh, a few thousdand here in Britain, more elsewhere."

"Do they all go to your school?" His mind was less on the thousdand or so Dumbledore had mentioned and more on a dark haired little girl he could not seem to find or forget.

Nodding, Dumbledore sighed and considered his words. "Most," he answered simply. "But it is not compulsory. Children have a choice to attend or not." He held Tom's gaze, waiting for more. When Tom sat silently, not offering anything else, Dumbledore continued. "What will your choice be, Tom?"

Tom frowned. He didn't like the haughty, self-righteous air of this dowdy old professor. Were the others like him, he wondered? Would he be better on his own? Would accepting cost him much more than he was willing to give? Would he still be free to do as he pleased?

He experienced a heady moment when he thought he might refuse and chase the man from the room. Then she was there before him. Was this his one and only chance to find her again? It was silly, he knew. She was just a girl.

"I want to go," he said finally.

Dumbledore nodded once. Then, curiously, his gaze fell to his clasped hands and he frowned. "There are certain...standards," the professor said gravely, bringing his piercing blue stare back to Tom's dark eyes. "I will not tolerate bullying and theivery."

Tom almost jumped off of the bed. "It's a lie!" he yelled. "The matron hates me. She's always been out to get me."

Dumbledore's calm gaze slid from Tom to the battered wardrobe just beyond the bed. A knocking and clanking racket had grown in volume and fervor. It was thundering so loudly in only a few seconds. Tom slammed his hands over his ears and scowled furiously at the man. He gritted his teeth and waited.

"Are you sure about that, Tom?" the professor asked knowingly.

There was nothing for the boy to say. Dumbledore stood and crossed the room to the wardrobe. He opened the door and lifted a cigar box, then turned back to Tom. "What is this?" He opened the lid.

Tom stared daggars. "They were given to me."

"No doubt," Dumbledore agreed. "But were they given willingly?" The professor sifted through the yo-yos and matchbox cars and then paused thoughtfully. He reached in and lifted out a red and white striped paper crane. Dumbledore held it before him, feeling the weight and considering.

"That's mine," Tom said, dangerous and low.

Dumbledore nodded, placating. "It's beautiful." He placed the bird back in the box and set the lot on the bed before Tom. "If I'm not mistaken, that," he pointed to the box with the bird, "is a popcorn bag from the circus, oh about..." he squinted his eyes, calculating, "almost a year ago. Do you enjoy the circus, Tom?"

Tom's frown deepened. "Until recently, I thought I would run away and join it."

Dumbledore smiled openly at this. "I am glad you have had a change of heart," he chuckled. He turned to the door. Before he stepped out, he turned once more and gave Tom one last weighty look. "This is a serious business, Tom. My terms are non-negotiable. No bullying. No thieving. Everyone is to be treated with respect at Hogwarts. No exeptions."

Tom frowned and gave him a nod, accepting. It was honest, guileless. Dumbledore understood. You will recieve instructions in the coming weeks. The year begins on the first of September. I look forward to getting to know you better, Tom." The man smiled and turned to leave. But before he went, he turned back. "And return those things to their rightful owners." His eys twinkled curiously and Tom knew he would know if he did as he was told. Then he was gone. Vanished.

Five days later a ratty old owl perched on his window carrying a letter with his name on it. Tom had never had a letter from the post, let alone an owl. He touched the smooth parchment and smelled the mineral smell of the ink. His life was about to change. In that instant he knew. He would see her again.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Tom Ridlde and the world of Harry Potter are the property of J. K. Rowling. The Majestic, Cora and all the circus folk are my creations. No copyright infringements are intended and I am making no money from this story.

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Four

The Magician's Apprentice

Northern Scotland, September 1939

Tom looked around at the eager, smiling faces apprehensively. There were so many more than he had expected. He glanced a bit manically between heads of differing shapes and colors. In vain he searched for the pale little face and the dark hair he recalled so well. If she was here at this strange school, then she was not in this big hall. The long rows of tables he had thoroughly scrutinized. No sign of her. His shoulders fell a little.

Then something inside of him grew brittle and hard. What had been the big deal about her in the first place? The sole reason he had been drawn to her was that she was the only one like him. Now he was surrounded by others like him. So what if she wasn't here? He would make other allies and learn what he needed to know. His destiny waited paitiently in front of him. And he need only rely on himself. He didn't need anyone else.

A funny little man was droning on from a ridiculously large podium. Tom didn't hear a word he said. The other children listened attentively. But for Tom, all else had become background noise as a picture of his future materialized before his mind's eye. He would be great some day. He would rule them all. A self-satisfied smile spread across his face.

That night in the boys' dormitory, he scratched furiously at the battered black diary. The other boys of Slytherin house snored around him creating a hum that was familiar. It sounded just like his cramped room at the orphanage, four boys to a room. But he couldn't help drawing a thick black line at this moment. That line separated the life he hated, small and pitiful, from this new and miraculous existence stretching out before him. Everything here was different. The people wore absurd costumes as if every day were Halloween. Ghosts roamed the halls and chatted about the weather! And the best part was the feeling. The heady, electric vibration that he chased after so recklessly before was everywhere, the air buzzed thickly with the sensation of magic!

"Diary," he scratched once more, "This is the beginning. All that was before is forgotten. Dead and burried." He blinked, feeling the sting of tired eyes. He added at the bottom of the page before signing off for the night a curious thought that had been circling his mind for hours, from the moment he had arrived here. "I will live forever."

He stared at the words for some moments before closing the worn cover. As he stood to tuck it away in its secret place, a page slipped and fell to the cold stone floor. Two dark eyes stared back from the white paper. A red stripe of blood was smeared across the page. He picked up the paper and felt a familiar tug. He pressed his lips together. Then he turned abruptly and tossed the picture into the fire, watching as it curled and withered to ashes. The past was dead, it must die if he was going to live forever.

Reading, October 1935

"Come on, then. 'Taint bloody Shakespeare, now is it?" Fat Mag, the circus' five hundred pound beauty, shouted to the pair before her.

Franco cleared his throat, frowning at her and the rest of the heckling crowd. Today was the day they premiered the new act for the boss. Everything had to go perfectly, or else. He didn't want to let his mind go down that path.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced grandly.

"And others," added Bess, the bearded woman, amid chuckles and cat calls from the other sideshow performers. She winked flirtatiously at Frank.

Frank frowned. No class, the lot of 'em. "I present to you marvels your eyes can scarce behold, a spectacle of wonder and mystery that will leave you speechless..." He threw his hands out wide, tossing his black theater cape dramatically.

"We've seen your marvel, Frank," called Darla from the front row of the makeshift grandstand. "And it ain't that wonderful or mysterious!"

A few snorts of laughter followed. Frank drew himself up with arrogant dignity and pressed on. "I give you..." he paused for effect, bowing to the Baron who was too busy picking his teeth to be honored, "The Magician's Apprentice."

The ladies in the crowd clapped encouragingly and smiled as Cora stepped out from behind the tatty blankets tacked up in a corner of the mess tent. The men whistled and made rude suggestions. Cora stood there awkwardly, staring at the crowd. Frank stepped to her side and clapped her on the shoulder. "Don't be nervous," he whispered to her in a rush, "just like we practiced now, eh?" He gave her the hint of a smile and shoved her forward, then turned his full charm on his audience. She took a big breath and tried not to look in the Baron's direction.

Franco Barconi, the Magnificent took over, creating the perfect suspense and awe. He was a master at showmanship. He was a second-rate illusionist, however. Cora was the real talent. But hell if anyone was ever going to find that out.

He performed trick after marvelous trick and soon a hush had fallen over the toughest crowd he'd played to yet. The hardened circus performers were flabbergasted. They scrutinized and studied, calling out how they suspected he'd achieved such feats. Frank was eating it up. Even the Baron had turned his beady glare on them, his ruddy face bright with excitement.

And Cora played her part splendidly. She bumbled when she was supposed to bumble. She was incompetent and foolish and absolutely charming, all the while creating such illusions they had never before witnessed.

For the final trick Franco pulled a bundle of dead and dried sticks from his silk top hat. He waved his hand theatrically over them once, twice, three times. The sticks changed to the whitest, most lush lillies. He threw them up in the air and caught them with the other hand. Now they were deep purple irises. Next they were the richest of red roses. With a flourish he handed them to his young apprentice. The blooms immediately withered away to dry, dead twigs once again.

The audience clapped wildly and cheered. The pair took a bow side by side. Then, as rehearsed, Cora stepped back and Frank took another, grander bow, thanking his fans magnanimously.

"That was wunderbar!" The Baron was on his feet and clasping his beefy hands tightly. "What an act! You will perfom it tonight, yes?" It was not a question that needed answering. "Think of the coin we'll make with an act like that." He clapped one massive hand on Frank's shoulder. "I think you have been holding out on me," he accused jokingly. Yet his eyes held a hint of malevolence.

"Never," Frank countered smoothly, "I was just waiting for the right..." he regarded Cora for a moment, "Inspiration."

"Well done, my little one!" the Baron called to her as he turned to leave. "You will be a big star!" He threw open the canvass flaps and to Cora's relief disappeared. She released the breath she had been holding since they'd begun.

The other members of the circus family rushed forward to congratulate her warmly, wishing her well on her first performance that evening and giving her tips from wardrobe to stage presence. She reveled in the attention, soaking it up like sunshine.

"Thank heaven," Darla, the bubbly trapeze artist, called gleefully over the din. "Another night at half capacity and the Baron would have made more cuts for sure." She shook Frank's hand. "This is just what we needed to put a little life back into this tired old gal."

The beautiful horsemistress, Ruby, strode up behind Cora and tossed her glossy waves of blond hair. "Don't count your chickens before they hatch, darling," she shot cooly at Darla. "People are fickle. You never can guess what they'll fancy." She eyed Cora like a bug that needed squashing and strode out of the tent with an air of self-importance.

Darla gestured rudely to her back. "Come on, girlie," she said, grabbing Cora by the hand, "let's get you all prettied up before the big show!" She bounced toward the door with her twin, Daisy following in her wake.

Cora, each of her hands tucked warmly in the hand of the trapeze twins' hands, allowed herself to be ushered out for some primping and dress up. She turned and glanced back at her father. It gave her a pleasant feeling of contentment to see him basking in the glow of his friends' praises. She was happy that he was so happy.

"Curls, I think," Daisy was saying to her sister, petting Cora's long raven hair thoughtfully.

"No," Darla retorted, shaking her own mass of blond curls, "Braids! She should look sweet and lovely."

Cora happily played the doll for the sisters as she looked forward with mounting excitement to her first real show under the magical big top.

London, July 1943

Cora sat in front of the cracked glass of the tiny mirror resting on the crate she used as a dressing table. She barely saw her own reflection, the flushed red cheeks, the glassy, unfocused eyes. Her mind was miles away. Years away.

She had been performing a new trick that night. Nothing difficult. She had mastered her powers years ago. There wasn't much left that was new. Now the skill was in manipulating her old bag of tricks into something exciting and novel. She was growing weary of the spectacle. This was what her mind had been on all afternoon, when she smiled into the crowd and saw him.

The boy.

But he was no longer a boy, really. He was nearly a man. And handsome. Pale, aristocratic features under thick and glossy black hair. And his eyes, so intense, so cutting. Focused only on her.

The heat she felt from his stare caught her breath in her chest. The already steamy air became too much. She was dizzy and thought she would faint. Then her father hissed something angrily at her and jarred her from the spell she seemed to be under. She finished the act in a blind daze.

When the grand finale came round, she could hardly claim to be recovered from her shock. Frantically, she scanned the crowd. She could not find him anywhere. Confused and unsure of the storm of emotions raging inside of her, she returned immediately to her boxcar, amid protests for her to join the others for a wild night.

As she climbed into the car, she saw it. The paper crane. The same one from that night a lifetime ago. He had returned it to her, nestling it in the midst of the combs and ribbons and powder puffs that cluttered her makeshift dressing table. Next to it, carefully arranged was a scrap of paper with a few words hastily scrawled and the rose. Her rose. She had kept it, perfectly preserved all these years, tucked safely in an old hat box under her cushions. Now here it was, its bloodred petals staining the page with his words written on them.

She picked up the note and stared. Replacing the note, she sat heavily and stared into the battered looking glass. And here she sat for hours, chilled even though the night was sticky. The rumble of thunder growled over the city in the distance. She was thinking dangerous thoughts, deadly and forbidden. Life outside of the circus she had once loved. The only home she had. It had turned from some place solid that she laid her head every night to a mere illusion. She picked up his note and rubbed the smooth paper between her finger, smudging the red blood on her white fingers. Who was to say that this was any more real?


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Tom and the world of Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. Cora and the Majestic belong to me. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Five

Secrets and Scars

York, August 1939

Cora winced as he drew the blade across her hand yet again. This was the fifth time. And indeed, there were four thin pink scars beside this new wound welling a bright red. She fought back a whimper and felt tears stinging her eyes.

"Again," he ordered absently, wiping the blade on a rust-stained cloth. "Faster, this time."

She focused all her concentration on the searing pain, gritted her teeth and pushed. The raw edges of the cut tingled. Slowly the skin began to knit itself back together until only an angry red line remained. The red faded to a pink identical to the parallell scars. She huffed a sigh of relief. It was getting easier.

Her father drew her palm forward to inspect it. "Good," he approved. Their new act was going well. Too well and the crowds hungered for more. The Baron was pleased, but never satisfied. The envelope always needed a push. Success was to her litterally a double edged sword.

Merely practicing her magic was no longer adequate. She needed to master it. And to master it, her father had assured her, she must not hold back. There must be no fear left. No fear of failure. No fear of pain. So he had devised a new method to hone her skills. She couldn't pretend to enjoy their lessons together, but she couldn't deny that she was surpassing even what she thought was possible.

He took the blade to her outstretched palm again. The railyards had been littered with the carcasses of dead and dying circuses, sideshows and carnivals. The Majestic was one of the few traveling shows holding on through a depression that stretched its emaciated fingers deeper and deeper with each passing year. No one had denied the fact that Barconi the Magnificent and his apprentice's act had saved them from being sold off like scrap as so many circuses had.

But to keep the tattered, worn circus together, Cora had to wow an ever more jaded crowd. Depression and now war on the horizon. Hitler and the new nationalism that was sweeping Europe was all anyone could talk about. There seemed precious little time for frivolities as visits to the circus. Cora didn't understand any of it, but she did understand that a hushed nervousness hummed around the tents and train cars with each new broadcast on the radio. Each morning quiet groups huddled around the paper, staring at headlines she could not make out. She had asked her father a few days ago what the fuss was about but he had brushed her off. There were more important things she should be focused on. Like putting food in their bellies.

The cold sting of the blade made her jump and earned her a scolding look from him. She closed her eyes and pushed harder than ever. They were working on a daring new feat, a sure bet that was going to knock the audience's socks off. She had worn out her staples: turning old, dead flowers into pretty, ever-changing bouquets; moving objects and levitating them; turning one thing into something else. But one essential illusion still eluded her. She could not make an object disappear. And she didn't merely want to make any old thing disappear...she wanted to make herself disappear!

Her hand healed once more, and this in record time, she presented her palm once more to her father for inspection. He frowned and regarded her coldly. "Other hand," he pronounced. Her shoulders fell and reluctantly she held up the yet unblemished palm of her other hand. She braced herself for the first cut. It would be more sensitive and hurt more, she knew. The skin of the other hand had become callous and conditioned to the pain. She couldn't help but cry out as he sliced the unmarredd flesh. She thought she saw him smile a little.

She deserved these new, more brutal, lessons, she supposed. The Baron had flipped the script of their act after that night. The night with the bird and the boy. That night had been terrifying. There were rumors flying amongst the performers that more cuts would be made that night. And for months now she understood that cutting an act cost the unfortunate soul more than their job. The Baron, or more acurately his lackey, Marco, would deliver the bad news with a knife to the throat and leave the unlucky one on the garbage heep as they left town. Authorities assumed what they wanted, whatever involved less paperwork. And the act was never missed.

That night Frank had been so drunk he could barely hold himself upright. He forgot half of the props in their car. When he reached for the toy rabbit hidden in his hat, there was nothing. He was too blottered to recover the act, so she had done what she thought she had to do to save him. She took over and had revealed the truth behind their act. She was the talent and he was the fraud. Frank had never forgiven her.

The Baron was so enraptured with this discovery, her true talents, that he grudgingly forgave Frank and rewrote their act. She was to be the precocious and gifted student, he the bumbling idiot of a teacher. And now the Baron was never satissfied. Knowing what he knew of her talents, he expected more. She dutifully closed the wound on her hand and presented it to her father. He glanced at it and sliced again. She watched his face as he turned away from her. However much he despised her now, though, she shuddered to imagine the alternative.

That night as she prepared for bed, braiding her long hair in the meager glow of a candle stub, her fingers aching from the lessons, she heard a curious tapping. Frank had left for the pub after he had had enough practice and she had not seen him at dinner. She wreched open the heavy door to their boxcar, preparing to help her stumblig father to his cot. What awaited her, however was a curious sight. A rumpled feathery creature shot into the small room and landed in a heap on the bed, bouncing and shaking in irritation. In its beak was clasped a thick envelope. She clapped her hands and took the envelope.

"I didn't know they were training owls!" she said with glee. "Well done, you," she praised the owl, which pecked at her finger obstinately with a sharp beak. It turned once and then raised its wings and sailed off into the night. She watched it go, smile still in place. Wondering how they were going to fit owls into the show, she turned her attention to the thick envelope and studied it.

Curious writing looped on the front. She turned it over and saw that it was sealed with a fat seal of deep blue wax. A funny crest was pressed into the glob of wax, a crest divided into four sections. She squinted in the dim light. A badger or weasle, she could make out, along with a snake. There were other images she could not quite make out. A lion, maybe and some sort of bird. She pressed her lips together. Looking once more at the flowing script she shrugged her shoulders and placed the envelope on her father's pillow. It must be for him. Why ever would she recieve a letter? Everyone she knew was just a few steps and a shout away!

Anyway, she thought as she climbed into her nest of blankets, if it was for her she would have to wait for her father to read it to her. She had never learned to read.

She woke early, her palms itching. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she was startled to find her father staring at her from his cot. He was seated, wearing the same clothes he had gone out in the night before. For all appearances, it looked like he had just come in.

He held up the letter for her to see. She smiled brightly. So he found it. Good! She was afraid he would come home drunk as a skunk and drool on it all night.

"Where did this come from?" he asked quietly. His stare was so intense, she became alarmed.

Swallowing hard, she answered truthfully, but it sounded stupid even to her. "An owl brought it last night."

"An owl?" he frowned. He turned the paper over in his hands again and again. "And you didn't read it?"

She shook her head. "I can't read."

He looked surprised, but his shoulders were not so tight. She relaxed. Anger and confusion melted away and he adopted a bouyant air. "It seems they're trying out birds! Can you imagine?" He laughed woodenly.

She laughed too. "I think it would be fun!" she bounced in her blankets. "I love birds!"

He folded the letter and tucked it securely in his coat. "They're training 'em by teaching 'em carry letters." He looked at her fully. "If any more owls arrive with letters, will you give them to me immediately?" Smoothing out the remnants of aggitation, he added, "I have to let Peter know if they deliver them or not. You know, for the training."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Sure!" Bouncing to her feet, she stood up. "Can I go and help Peter train them?"

"No!" he shouted suddenly, startling the both of them. "No," he added again more gently. "I think it's best if we don't mention this to anyone! If things didn't go well, I'd hate to think of what the Baron will do." He winked at her chummily. "Our secret?"

She was nearly as excited to be in collusion with her father as she was at the prospect of training the birds. "Of course," she agreed, returning his wink. "I won't tell a soul."

More owls arrived over the golden stretch of August. Sometimes even two or three a day. She dutifully tucked the letters away in the pocket of her overalls and handed them over to her father as instructed. Then as August rolled into September, the letters stopped, just like that.

The letters stopped on the very same day the BBC anouncer spoke over the crackle of static and emotion. "Germany has invaded Poland this very day. War is declared!"

London, July 1943

Tom leaned against a wooden pole covered in bills advertising this and that, faded and worn by sun and rain. The night air was steamy and thick and in the distance he heard the roll of thunder. He was exiled here each summer. The thunder remined him of the bombing. Just a couple of years ago, Tom had prayed that the orphanage would be hin. Then perhaps they would let him stay at school for the summer holiday. His time would be better spent learning, planning, preparing. But, he reminded himself, we can't always have what we want. Not yet anyway.

But here he was, wasting his time under this glaring lamp, waiting in a grimy train yard just outside of the city. Waiting outside the dingy canvass decked out in red and white. Waiting for her. He kicked at a rock with his worn brown shoes. He'd almost choked at dinner last night when he heard two of the little ones chattering on about some circus. It hadn't taken him long to find her. Though it seemed miraculous enough for him. Such a relief it had been to see her again, like finding a precious treasure one thought was gone for good. Funny, he hadn't thought he'd been searching. He only now realized he'd never really given up finding her.

She'd stolen his breath when she'd walked out into the center ring, no longer the shy thing he'd remembered. Now she was dazzling, decked out in sparkles and feathers, a star act. And there was a quiet confidence about her. Where an usure and awkward little girl had stood was a beautiful and glamorous young lady! He sat a little taller.

The air was hot and still under the big top. The sweat prickled along his hairline and stuck to his plain white shirt where his suspenders pressed the cotton against his skin. The temperature ratcheted up a few degrees as he watched her. He felt such a longing, a tightness in his chest. He felt ill. Never in his life had he experienced anything like it. And he was not pleased with himself. She was just a girl.

He watched her act, his eyes never leaving her. A war raged within him-he begged for her to look his way and prayed at the same time that she wouldn't see him. He couldn't weigh which would be worse, her indifference or her scrutiny. He was ashamed that he hadn't thought to wear his nicer trousers or comb his hair as neatly as usual.

Bending low, she scooped up a handful of sawdust from the ground and turned. She raised her eyes and leveled her gaze directly at him! Her beaming smile faltered a moment before righting itself, but she did not look away. She threw the handful of sawdust into the air and the crowd gasped as the dry dust turned into swirling and sparkling snowflakes dancing on some unseen wind. The temperature plummeted and the audience was relieved from the sweltering blanket for a few blissful moments. He held out his hand and caught a perfect crystal flake in his palm. It was extraordinary magic! And she required no wand from what he could tell. He needed to know how she did it!

Before the act concluded he was on his feet and searching out her quarters. He scrawled a quick note and left it for her. And he waited. Leaning against this pole, he had been at first hopeful. Now he was losing that cool confidence he'd become known for. That had served him so well. She was not coming. Accepting defeat, at least for tonight, he shoved off of the rough wood and shuffled off down the dusty path. He was already formulating a plan.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, he ambled down the road in no particular hurry. The distant rumble had quieted a little. Fat drops of rain began smacking the ground, his shoulders, his nose. He didn't pay much attention. His mind was still too full of her. Would she give up her secrets willingly, for a smile, maybe? Maybe it would take a little more persuasion. He rather liked the prospect. Where was the fun in an easy victory? He whistled lightly as he left the raucous circus noise of the circus behind and ambled off in the rain toward the city.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Tom and the world of Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. The Majestic, Cora and all the others belong to me. No money is being made from this story and nok copyright infringement was intended.

Thank you **CrimsonAngel22** for your kind review. If anyone has a suggestion or a critique please don't be shy. All feedback is helpful!

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Six

Meeting Again

London, July 1943

The morning was bright and clear. The rain had given the air a newly scrubbed and clean smell and had chased some of the heat off. Cora jumped lightly down from her boxcar and made her way to the mess tent, a small tent the color of dirty sailcloth, that was just a few car lengths away. She shoved her way through the tent flaps and called a friendly hello to the few who still milled around. Daisy and Darla called warmly back to her. Her father gave her a cursory glance and then returned his attention back to the paper in his hands. Cora noted the bloodshot eyes and heavy circles under them. He looked to be in a very sour mood. She decided to steer clear this morning.

Grabbing up an apple she waved to the girls and ducked back out into the warm morning sunshine. As she walked she rubbed the apple on her overalls then took a bite. She headed in the direction her feet naturally took her. She could smell the animals long before she could see them.

"Hullo, Lightning!" she sang merrily to the white stallion tied to a stake in the ground. The animal lifted its head from a bucket of oats and whinnied to her. He stretched the length of its rope to come and greet her. The horse nudged her with its nose and then grabbed up her unfinished apple with a few wiggles of its soft lips. "Hey," she protested. "That was mine!"

She gave the horse a few more friendly pats before it ambled back over it its bucket. "How are your brothers and sisters today?" she called as she walked around the horses' dusty makeshift corral. Lightning was one of four show horses, a pair of white and a pair of black. Cora called to each and inspected them one by one. There had been a set of four blacks and four whites, but illness, malnutrition and overwork had done some of them in. But Lightning and his family seemed to be in high spirits this morning, Cora noted happily. She ducked around the last of her equine friends, careful to watch out for their mistress, Ruby.

The horses and other animals of the Majestic were quite fond of Cora, and most of the humans liked her well enough. But Ruby was a different creature all together. Ruby had always had a rather sporting dislike of Cora, a playful disdain. But after that night with the paper crane, the Baron had put all his chips on Cora. Ruby did not take kindly to being thrown over for another star performer. The horsemistress had worked too hard on the boss for him to suddenly hitch his wagon to a new star.

Logically, Cora thought, Ruby should spend her venom on the Baron, not her. But that sadly was not the case. Ruby hated Cora with a passion now, and simply oozed charm and flirtatiousness for the Baron. It wasn't fair, but then again, not much in life was. She peered around the side of the giraffe's car that no longer held giraffes, the last one passing on several months ago. It now held rigging and equipment. No Ruby in sight, but the person she saw was just the one she was looking for. She patted the pocket that held the note.

Joseph stood with his back to her, hands on his hips. He was soaked from the top of his head to the toes of his beat up leather boots. His patched white shirt stuck to his arms, lean with muscle from hard work. His broad shoulders were crisscrossed with worn brown suspenders and he reached up to take off a sopping flat cap. Water dripped off his straight black hair.

"Bad girl, Ellie!" he scolded, holding his arms out as fat drops fell from his hands. A two ton elephant swayed from one massive foot to the other and trumpeted in glee. Ellie reached her snout into the soapy bucket and blasted the boy again. His protests were drown out as the full contents of the bucket hit him square in the face. He turned just in time to miss the full impact of the blast. He smiled when he saw her standing there.

Cora picked up an old scrap of blanket and handed it to Joseph as he made his was over to her, leaving a puddle with each step. He accepted the towel gratefully and wiped his face. Rubbing the towel in his hair, he gave the obstinate elephant a nod. "Have it your way, then!" he called back to her.

Cora laughed openly as he tried to wipe off more water. "Seems she didn't want a bath today, but she thought you could use one!"

Joseph glanced back at the huge animal. "Stubborn old cow!" he said with obvious affection.

Cora watched as the elephant tossed the wooden bucket aside and ambled around the length of ground her iron chain allowed her. "How is she?" she asked quietly.

Joseph's almond-shaped eyes, shifted uneasily back to the elephant and then fell to the ground. "No matter what I try the wound won't to heal," he confided to her. There was an unspoken fear that he didn't need to put into words for her. A lame animal was no use to the circus.

Cora reached out and put a small hand on his wet shoulder. "It'll get better," she promised. "Look at her!" she said, gesturing with her chin. "She's so lively today." This definitely must be a good sign, she thought.

He nodded as if silently convincing himself. He wanted so to believe her. Ellie was the last elephant left at the Majestic. She had joined the circus from the scrap heap of a dead circus in Manchester. He'd tagged along not many days after. The boy and beast had become fast friends, left behind by everyone, needing a second chance. That had been two years ago. In the musty tents and train cars of the Majestic they had found a home.

Now Ellie was getting old and sick. Still she was expected to pull her weight like everyone else. Setting up the enormous ceter pole of the big top at their last stop, Ellie had been cut badly by her harness. The wound was festering now.

The boy turned his wide eyes back to Cora and she was startled to see them glisten with unshed tears. "I can't lose her, too, Cora."

Cora nodded, understanding. Joseph hopped the train when he was fourteen. He had come to England from Tibet with a missionary when his father, then his mother had died from illness. The missionary, Mr. Mason, Joseph had loved as a second father. The man had been kind to the boy, but it had been a hard path to cut for him, an Asian in a world of whites. And then war had come. When the Americans entered the war in retaliation for the bombing the Japanese had given them at Pearl Harbor, any sympathy the world may have had for the boy vanished. Mr. Mason had been knifed in an alley after a drunk had attacked Joseph. Mr. Mason had stepped in between the man and the helpless boy. Joseph had gotten away. Mr. Mason had died there on the garbage-strewn street.

"Please," he begged her again.

Cora swallowed hard. "What can I do?" she asked hopelessly.

He grabbed her hand. "Fix her," he said, holding her soft hand in his rough fingers. "I know you can do it."

She felt the scars on her palms itch. "Joe," she whispered, frightened. "I...don't know how. What if I hurt her...or make it worse?"

He squeezed her hand gently. "I don't think you could hurt anyone." He stepped closer and held her in his warm, brown gaze. "Just try. It's her last chance."

Cora felt herself nod. "Okay," she agreed. "Can you get me close to her? I think I need to...to touch her near the wound." She said the words and wondered where they had come from. Still, it felt right. Maybe it was all instinct and she would know what to do. A sick feeling settled in her stomach. Maybe she was an idiot and had no business doing what she was about to do.

Joseph quickly fetched a rickety ladder and set it up next to the left shoulder of the beast. Ellie swayed nervously, almost toppling the ladder. Cora jumped back and stared wide-eyed. Joseph patted and petted the scared elephant, speaking soft and kind words to her. "She's alright now," he assured. He kept up the soothing touches and sounds. Cora took a few shaky steps up the ladder. She reached the summit and looked down over the lofty height of Ellie's back. The wrinkled gray skin was marred over her shoulder by a big slice the length of her two hands placed tip to heel. Cora sucked in a deep breath.

With a shaking hand she reached out to the animal. "Shh," she soothed as she placed her hands on the great expanse of shoulder. "It's okay," she cooed. Her chest was tight and she thought she might faint dead away. She closed her eyes and put those feelings out of her mind as she concentrated the way she had practiced with her father. She pushed with her mind, every fiber of her quivering with the electric power. The animal bucked a little and made a pitiful sound. She gritted her teeth and pushed harder.

When Cora opened her eyes, she saw that a fat white scar slashed the gray wrinkles neatly in half. The wound was no longer open and festering. She breathed a huge sigh. The thick scar was beginning to fade. A relieved smile broke over her face.

"Joe, it worked!" she called to him. She stepped backward to the next lower rung of the ladder and Joseph stepped around the great foreleg of the elephant. His round, handsome face was awash in gratitude. His outline grew fuzzy, however and the last thing she remembered was him calling out her name as if from a great distance.

She blinked her eyes and looked around. The first thing she saw were two warm brown eyes below a brow knit together in lines of concern. Her head hurt.

"Ow," she gasped weakly as she sat up. Joseph had one hand pressed to her forehead. She reached up and felt with her own. A cloth felt like it was sticking to her skin. She looked down and realized Joe had taken off his shirt.

Cora sat up suddenly and looked away. Joseph explained, a hint of embarrassment in his usually sure tone. "You fell off the ladder," he informed her. "Cracked your head pretty good."

"Oh," she answered stupidly. She struggled to her feet. Blinking her eyes to clear the fuzziness, she assessed. Other than a pounding in her head, she felt okay. With a sheepish smile, she handed Joe back his shirt now wet with her blood as well as the water from Ellie's bath. She still could not look at him. She turned to go with a shy, "Well then... sorry about your shirt!"

"Wait," he said quietly, stopping her with a hand on her arm. He reached a finger under her chin and lifted her face until she looked at him. "Thank you," he said simply but with so much feeling. He held her in his stare for a long moment.

She nodded and smiled. "I'm glad I could help," she answered woodenly. He released her and she turned to go. Pushing her hands deep into her pocket, she tried to still her racing heart and shaking limbs. A crinkle of paper stole her attention from her unbalanced emotions. The note. The reason she had come in the first place. She turned and strode back to the boy, holding up a wrinkled piece of paper. She couldn't help but notice the same war happening in him.

"Can you..." she began, embarrassement creeping back into her words. "Tell me what this says?" She pushed the paper into his hands, looking quickly away.

He smiled and unfolded the scrap. "It says..._Meet me at the crossing, T". _He folded the paper and handed it back to her. He did not ask her any questions about the cryptic words. She was grateful. Tucking the paper back into her pocket she turned once more to leave.

"I can teach you," he called after her. She stopped but did not turn. "To read, that is." He shrugged his broad, tanned shoulders. "It's the least I can do, for Ellie."

Looking back over her shoulder, she thought about just moving on, unsure of the strange uneasiness within her. Still, she found herself nodding and smiling.

"Tomorrow, then." He threw his bloodied shirt over his shoulder and walked back to Ellie. "Come find me."

London, July 1943

Acrobats flipped, trapeze artists soared, Ellie was in top form. Everything was going well, Cora observed as she waited to make her entrance. Still she couldn't help the nervous flutter she felt. Poking her head out from the canvas, she scanned the crowd again and again.

"Something wrong?" her father asked with concern.

She shook her head no.

Still, he regarded her with a look of trepidation. She forced herself to calm down. This was the last night for London. The circus would be packed up and gone by sunrise. He had to be here tonight!

Their act was announced and she stepped out into the spotlight with her father beside her and fought the urge to shield her eyes with her hand and search for him. Plastering a smile on her face, she went through the motions of their act with a little more gusto than usual. If he was out there in the crowd, he would know that this was for him.

Taking a bow, she took the opportunity to look around once more. There! She saw him near the top of the stands, staring. The lights shone off of his smoothly parted raven hair, his dark eyes boring into her. He was not smiling, but simply staring so intensely. She swore she could feel it. Her smile brightened and she beamed just for him.

Her father led her by the hand a few steps forward and stepped back as she took center stage and bowed low. When she turned and headed for the exit, Frank whispered cooly in her ear.

"Who is that?"

She nearly stumbled. "Who?" she feigned ignorance.

He hissed low, words for his daughter alone to hear. "Don't be a fool." The warning made her stop and look fully on his face. "It's dangerous."

Forcing a lighter air, she smiled and rested a hand on his arm. "I know, Father. He's just some boy that came last night." She added reassuringly, "We leave tonight anyway. I won't see him again."

Her father nodded gravely. "Good girl." It was not said unkindly, but with no particular wamrth either.

She turned back to the entrance. The finale couldn't come fast enough.

Breathless, she ran cautiously to the place the note had specified the previous night. With a sinking feeling, she knew there was only a slim chance he would be waiting for her again. But it was a chance she had to take. Still in her sparkling costume, hair still marcelled and bedecked in feathers, she'd not dared spend precious seconds changing. Grabbing a scratchy cloak from a hook by the performer's entrance, she ran out into the night.

There under the flickering light of the street lamp, a dark figure reclined against the post. Watching, waiting. Her heart stopped in her chest. She couldn't breathe. He was there, mere steps away. A slow smile stretched across his face. He shoved away from the post and closed the distance between them in two long, confident strides.

His eyes devoured the shimmering, beautiful creature before him. "Hello," he breathed, barely audible. All his confidence melted away and he was suddenly so conscious of himself. And of her, just within his reach. "I'm Tom."

The girl smiled, the most lovely thing he had ever beheld. "I'm Cora," she spoke, her voice shaking. She leaned into him a little and his head swam.

Slowly, she took another cautious step. "I've dreamed about you every night since I was ten," she confessed stupidly, color rising in her cheeks. She looked away.

He frowned, loving and hating in equal measure how bereft he felt when those eyes left his. He reached out one long finger and gently turned her face back to his. "As have I," he owned, not ashamed to admit it.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Tom and the magical world belong to J. K. Rowling. The Majestic and all original characters belong to me. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended.

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Seven

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

London, July 1943

A pleasant evening breeze picked up and lifted fine strands of raven hair from his head. She was utterly mezmorized by his perfection. His features were angular and refined. To her he seemed impossibly sophisticated and worldly. She felt so small and unimpressive next to him.

He stepped closer. A strange fluttery feeling caught her breath in her chest. The expanse between them had narrowed to a small sliver. A current hummed between them, and Cora shivered. Slowly he raised a hand to push a rogue strand of hair off of her forehead. She leaned into the simple touch, drawn desperately to him as if he was water and she had spent years crossing a wide desert. Recollecting herself, she blushed and stepped back, embarrassed.

"I didn't think you would come," he spoke, closing the gap between them she had created by moving away. "Seeing how you didn't come last night."

She heard an accusing tone in his voice. "I..." she tried to console him, but couldn't think of a reason, other than the truth. "I couldn't," she evaded. "I'm glad you gave me another chance."

He smiled a wide smile. She liked how it crinkled the perfectly smooth skin around his eyes. "I would have come again tomorrow and the night after that, and the night after that."

"Why?" she asked breathlessly.

"I have to know you," he answered was no longer any space between them. She was about to move back to catch her breath once more. Sensing it maybe, he put a hand on her waist, pressing into the sequined satin of her back, trapping her there. He was a head taller than she was and she had to look up to see his face. There was something so intense in his stare. It frightened her a little, but it was even more thrilling. "We are the same, you and I."

"We are," she whispered. "I've never met anyone else like you. Like us, I mean." She shook the black waves of her hair back and forth.

"I've met others," he said simply, feeling a selfish smugness as he watched her face fall. "No one like you, however." Just a little charm and she was his once more. He was enjoying this more than he'd imagined he would.

She couldn't help the delighted smile that broke over her face at his words. "Others," she begged for more. She was so hungry for knowledge. To be sophisticated, like him. To know this other side of life.

He nodded, still towering over her, hand still holding her close. "There is a whole world out there that you don't know of. Just going along under the surface of this one." She lapped up his words like a hungry kitten. "I go to a school for magic." He laughed, a small low sound that sent a shiver up her back under his warm hand. "I thought for the first year or so that I might see you there."

Looking away, she bit her lip. "I don't go to school," she admitted nervously. "Not much time for it anyway." She tried a laugh to make the confession sound light and careless. She didn't think he was fooled. "That sounds awful, doesn't it?"

She was relieved to see him shake his head. "No," he said smoothly, "from what I gather, you don't need it." He bent his head, bringing his lips close to her ear. "You are magic."

Her head swam dizzily, and she swayed against him. He grinned, pulling back from her. Suddenly he was stepping away from her, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets. She regained her balance, feeling the empty space between them grow. Confused, she frowned and his grin grew wider. "I think it's time for me to go." He tilted his chin toward the distance behind her. She turned and saw a tall shadow watching. A man had paused, leading two horses to the waiting train car. She knew that silhouette.

She was about to protest, but he was already turning away. "We leave tonight." There was a sadness in her words. He turned back to her and nodded.

"I know." He did not step closer again although she longed for him to. "Anyway," he shrugged his angular shoulders. "I'm back to school in a month."

Her shoulders slumped and her cloak nearly slipped. "Oh," was all she could manage.

Frowning, he glanced over the top of the head at the figure in the shadows. He was still there, watching. Steel had entered his sophisticated features. In two long strides, he closed the distance between them in a flash. Sliding a hand behind her neck and burrying his fingers in her silky hair, he brought her face up to meet his, pressing his lips to hers urgently.

And as quickly as it happened, it was over. He stepped back two paces and put his hands back into his pockets. His chest was rising and falling, drawing shaking breaths. She knew how he felt. A sweet and wonderful chaos, terrifying and overwhelming.

"May I write to you?" he asked in a rush. "Please," he begged.

She felt herself nodding, unsure of words. "How will you find me?"

That sly smile slowly spread across his perfect face once more. "I'll know." He took a step backwards, his eyes never leaving her face. "Good night, Cora." His dark eyes glittered with things unspoken. "Dream of me." And he turned away from her, kicking the dust as he walked on. He did not look back.

Cora watched until he was out of sight. After long moments watching the evening mist ghost by where he once stood, she finally forced herself to move. When she turned around, she saw the beginnings of the mighty bustle of the circus preparing to move on. One person she did not see among the crowd was Joseph.

"Brush them down good, now," Ruby instructed as she handed the reigns off to Joseph after the show. The horses would have less than an hour to rest before the tents had to come down and the hard work began. Ruby stalked off like a grande diva to her car to change. Joseph shook his head. Even the fine and fancy Miss Ruby would be decked out in overalls and drudging along with the lot of them. Everyone worked to put the circus up and everyone worked to bring it down.

"Come on, boys," Joseph called to the horses and they clopped obediently behind him, knowing there would be some oats or maybe a sugar cube in it for them. Their feathered heads bobbed together in sync and Joseph listened to the comforting rhythm of their shoes on the hard packed ground.

He hadn't heard them, lost as he was in the sound of the horses. Hearing the familiar voice of his closest friend, Cora, he paused. There she stood with a man in dark trousers. He had even darker hair and eyes and they were focused on Cora so intently. Joseph froze. The man, a boy really, not far from his own age, watched Cora like Nagini, the tattooed man's snake, watches mice. Hungry. Ready to devour.

Alarmed, Joseph wanted to call out for her to run, but some instinct forced him further into the shadows. The man looked up and saw him. The eyes were so cold and cutting like sharpened steel. Joseph had known fear and this new danger surpassed any he'd faced before. He wanted to run, his instinct for flight had saved him more than once. But he couldn't leave her. He held his ground. The man stepped back from her.

A few more words were exchanged. Then suddenly the man's eyes flashed and he grabbed Cora and kissed her. Joseph felt a wrenching in his gut like he'd been kicked. He couldn't help but follow his feet forward, stumbling toward the pair. Taking only a couple of steps put Joseph square in the light and he saw the man's razor eyes flash. Joseph understood the challenge. The silent shine of a preditor's glare identical to the big cats in his care. Run, run as fast as you can. There was no cage that could hold this dark danger.

Joseph stood frozen, exposed. As he watched the man part from her once more, he saw the longing in her movements, the unreserved desire to follow after him. It rubbed his insides raw. He choked back a bitter taste and forced himself to move. Pulling the horses behind him, he slid between the boxcars. He didn't need to see the look on her face as she turned. He already knew what he would find there.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Tom and the world of Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. The Majestic, Cora and all the others are mine. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

Thank you **Sachita**, for your kind reviews. Your feedback is very much appreciated!

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Eight

Sleepwalking

On The Rails, August 1943

The constant chug, chug, chug of the on-rushing engine was at first all one could hear. Then as one grew comfortable with the sound and the steady rocking, other sounds made themselves known. The rowdy laughter and crude talk of the poker game in the next car. Somewhere more distant a violin was scratching a familiar fiddler's tune without the A string. A lazy lion's yawn. Someone was carelessly humming a Hollywood tune. There were other sounds, too. Sounds her ears were not old enough or worldly enough to understand.

Letting the train rock her like a baby, Cora listened as these sounds mingled and mixed into a song. A song of life on the move. London was far behind her now, and she closed her eyes, calling up the memories of that night so she could savor them like the shiny, colorful candies Mag had given her often as a child. The memories were twice as sweet as the candy. But they had become impossibly thin, like the last little sliver of the confections on her tongue before they disappeared altogether. Why hadn't he written like he promised he would?

She had been so eager to begin her reading lessons with Joseph. Being ready for that first letter had been paramount to her. Nothing else was important. But Joseph was so busy! He hardly had time for her lessons and he always ended them before she was good and ready. Not wanting to be a bother, she would take whatever she could back to her little nest of blankets to practice on. A chocolate wrapper, a newspaper that had been trodden in the mud. She knew all of her letters now, but words were harder still. All but the tiniest words were still a mystery!

Then she decided she should be glad no letter had arrived for her yet. For unless the contents were about a cat or a hat or a rat, it would be useless. And she could never ask for help reading them. There wasn't a soul she trusted besides Joseph to read them, but the very idea of Joseph reading Tom's words to her made her squirm. No she had best be prepared on her own. The news article she was practicing with now swayed before her face as she stared at the print, the rocking of the train making it hard for her to concentrate. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she pushed herself up and stared around into the dim boxcar.

She got to her feet and pulled on her worn and patched coat. Sleep was not a possibility now and dawn was only an hour or two off anyway. Pity, she would have had such a nice dream of Tom.

Wrenching open the heavy door, she pushed it back on rusty wheels. The wind nearly blew her back as it rushed in. The night was crisp and fresh, the air dewy and new. Taking in lungfuls, she reached out for the scratchy rungs of a ladder that ascended the side of the car. Nimble as a chimpanzee, she grabbed a hold and swung out onto the ladder. The English countryside flashed by at a dizzying speed, but that did not frighten her. If one wanted to go about while on the rails, this was the way to do it. She had been hopping cars since she was seven.

Once on top, the wind tore and grabbed at her like some mad demon. She wrapped her coat tighter and trudged against it, gaining ground with each step. Without even realizing where she was going, she walked blindly on against the wind like some daredevil sleepwalker. Her destination was many cars ahead in the line. The car she and her father and their magic act occupied was the third to the last. It was hard going against the wind, she mused. But only Ruby and the Baron's cars were behind her and why would she ever voluntarily go there?

Stepping carefully over the trapdoors in the roof of the big cats' cars, she leapt the gap to the next car easily. The giraffe car had two square openings for the tall animals to stretch their long necks. But the Majestic had no more giraffes and this car was now occupied by the tack and harnesses for the animals, other gear for their care and their caretaker. She swung down through the openings and landed lightly on the musty straw that covered the floor.

Blinking in the dim light, Cora took a moment to let her eyes adjust. Before her towered crates and stacks of this and that, she had no idea what. She turned around to peer into the darkness behind her. The car was empty. Irrational panic rose in her throat. She hadn't heard any rumors of cuts to be made, but that meant nothing to her now. Frantically she climbed the stack of gear and emerged once more on the roof of the train, wind whistling in her ears. Her only thought now was to find her friend.

She took only a few steps before smacking into something hard and solid. Yelping, she tried to free herself, but to no avail. Two strong hands held her there. "Let me go," she yelled and pummled the thing with her fists.

"Cora," growled a familiar voice, the hands shaking her with a gentle force. "Stop or you'll send us both over the edge."

She looked up, startled to be face to face with Joseph. He was smiling, no laughing. Her relief mingled with bitterness. She shoved him back hard, hands pressed flat on his chest, but he was ready for it, balancing easily. "I thought..." she just shook her head. "Don't scare me like that! I thought you were Marco!"

"I'm sorry," he apologized, still with a faintly amused smile, hair whipping around his face. He looked very rumpled and wind-tossed as he stood there in just his trousers and a white undershirt. "I was just coming to look for you."

She frowned. "Why?" she asked, and then colored. Hadn't she just done the same? Sneaking into a boy's car under the cloak of night? In only her nightdress? That would have surely earned her a cuff on the ear from her father, or worse.

A knot formed in her stomach when she saw his smile slip away. "It's Buttermilk. She's not doing so well." His voice was sad and pleading.

He didn't need to say anymore. He grabbed her small hand in his and tugged her forward. The equestrian car was two up from where they stood and he crossed the distance, leading her quickly but assuredly. Helping her down the side ladder, he pulled her into the warm car that smelled of hay and horse. Her feet had barely touched the floor before he was tugging her into the darkness.

The whole of the car was sectioned off into four stalls, one horse for each. Lightning whinnied softly to her when he saw her. He was housed directly in front of the door. But the far corner was where Joseph headed, pulling her with him to kneel beside a white horse, stretched out on her side and panting miserably.

"What happened?" Cora breathed as she watched Joseph smooth a hand soothingly over the mare's neck.

"I thought it was a pulled muscle. If it was, though, the swelling should have gone down by now." Joseph moved his hand over the horse's round belly to her great hind leg. Cora followed with her eyes and saw a painful protruding lump.

"What is it, then?" She tried not to wince and look away.

Joseph shook his head. "A tear, maybe. Or a tumor." He returned his hand to the mare's cheek and soothingly stroked her nose to quieten the animal. "They'll realize she's lame when we stop. It's a bullet for her then."

Cora sucked in a sharp breath. "And you want me to fix it."

Joseph held her gaze with his warm, honest one. He nodded once, "Will you do it?" He watched her face as she considered it. A curious storm was happening within her. Finally, she took in a big breath and let it out slowly. She nodded her assent.

Joseph whispered lovingly to the horse as Cora slid her hand down the horse's swollen flank. Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated hard on her connection with the animal, the place where her skin met warm, silky hair. Then she pushed her concentration deeper, to the broken places within, to muscle and blood and bone. She searched out the pain and willed all of what was inside her into the horse, making her well again. The horse knickered nervously. It was the last sound she remembered.

A fuzzy humming in her ears, her eyes fluttered open. She felt the prickle of hay beneath her. It was warm and soft but scratchy. Her swimming eyes cleared and she saw Joseph's face, a mask of terror and concern, then relief, staring back at her. He put a strong hand under her shoulder and helped her sit up. "Easy," he cautioned her softly.

They were silent for a few moments. Joseph's hand remained steady on her shoulder. "It was harder, this time," he asked, but it left his lips as a statement.

She nodded, rubbing her forehead. "It...took more." Cora looked around, finding the horse with her bleary, stinging eyes. "Is she okay?"

Joseph rocked back so he was sitting on his heels. She saw Buttermilk on her feet and pawing through the hay on the wooden boards of the floor. Her massive flank seemed sound.

"Good as new," he said, forcing some cheeriness back into his tone.

She sighed in relief.

Joseph regarded her with a curious mix of guilt, awe and confusion. "What does it feel like?" he asked finally. "When you help them. Does it hurt you?"

"No," she shook her head, but found it so hard to search out her feelings and put words to them. Frowning, she considered for a long time. "It feels...strange. Like I'm full of something, but then I pour it all into Ellie, or Buttermilk and I'm left...empty, I guess." She shrugged. "Kinda like that. Not bad, but not easy to do. And the emptiness is...uncomfortable."

He thought about this for some quiet moments. "Thank you," he said with a weight of feeling. "Taking care of these animals with little more than hopes and wishes...well, it's hard to keep them going." He smiled warmly at her. "We couldn't get along without you. I couldn't..." he began, but looked away, letting the thought die with his voice. He let her go and moved a step away. "Thanks."

She pushed her hair off her forehead and was surprised that it felt sticky. In fact, she was drenched in sweat, the thin cotton of her nightgown stuck to her under the coat. She struggled out of the thick wool sleeves. "I guess I'm handy to know." She laughed, regaining a little of her spirit. "Is that the only reason you keep me around?" she asked, and instantly regretted it.

His eyes dropped to the hand resting lightly on her knee. Shoulders rising and falling with every breath that seemed stuck in his chest, he remained quiet. She barely heard his answer when it came. "No," he whispered. Looking up, his warm chocolate eyes locked with her dark gaze. For a breathless moment, she felt a strange sensation of apprehension and longing that confused her. Then the moment was broken and he turned away, settling down into the hay next to her. With a practiced casual coolness, he stretched out and clasped his hands behind his head. "Even if you couldn't do the things you do," he finished his thought, "I would still want to be around you."

She frowned into the darkness, still reeling from the storm of emotions within her. Lying back on the straw, she folded her hands across her chest. "Why?" she returned. "Without my magic, I'm not worth much." It was said so simply, so matter of fact.

"Is that really how you see yourself?" He raised up on one elbow and turned his head to look at his friend.

She nodded. He reached out and touched her smooth forehead, tucking back a damp lock of dark hair. "That's not how I see you."

Turning her head slightly, she met his eyes once more. The rest of her body remained still. "How do you see me?" she asked, fearful of the answer.

"You're kind," he said. "You're smart."

She snorted at this. "I'm fifteen and I can't read."

"Yet," he countered. "It's only been three weeks." He rolled over onto his back once more. "Cut yourself some slack."

Plucking a piece of straw from their makeshift bed, she twirled it in her fingers, watching it dance in circles in the blue predawn light. Spinning and spinning, she let her eyes unfocus and her mind walk sleepily away from the warm boxcar and scratchy hay to wherever Tom might have been at that very moment, imagining lots of glamorous scenarios for his life. How did Tom see her, she wondered. She'd all but forgotten her friend lying so close she could feel the heat from his bare shoulder. The screetch of steel on steel wrenched her back to the present. The train was slowing. They were nearing their next stop.

London, August 1943

Tom's things were packed in one battered suitcase the matron had found in the attic before he left for his first year. He was now beginning his fifth. Absently he tossed a wadded ball of paper at the ceiling, watching it plummet back to him as he lounged on his bed. It was his last night in the rotten place. He tossed the ball up again and caught it lazily.

He had tried again and again, failing each time, to begin a letter. Pressing his lips together, he chucked the last attempt higher into the air and caught it again. Several more balled up letters littered the floor by the trash bin in the corner. It had been weeks writing this letter, _weeks_! He felt a disgusting self-loathing. What was the big deal? He screamed at himself to know the answer.

"These things take finesse," an inner voice cajoled him. "Wouldn't want to frighten the little mouse away."

But every time he tried to put pen to paper, a crippling self-consciousness gripped him. He didn't know what to say! It was novel and fascinating and utterly, maddeningly frustrating. His chest felt uncomfortably tight.

"What would a person in love say," the inner voice querried. "Tell the girl what she wants to hear. That you are head over heels for her and blah, blah, blah..."

Frowning deeper, he tossed the ball again. Thwock, thwock, thwock. He mulled the piece of advice over. It pleased him to have her think him in love with her.

"Of course it does, you dolt!" the inner voice raged. "That's our plan, isn't it?"

Tom sat up and grabbed a fresh piece of paper. No one made a fuss any more about how much paper he'd wasted. No one really made a fuss of Tom any more about anything. Past experience had taught everyone to steer clear. He began scratching the lines he'd written so many times.

_My enchanting Cora,_

_I return to school tomorrow. I have never in all my years longed for summer to stretch on. But I find my mind returning to a summer night, standing under a street lamp. Waiting for the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. And there you are. Every night I come back to that moment. How I wish I could live there, frozen forever in time with you._

_But life is not lived by sleepwalking. We both go about our existence separately, but I dream that once in a while you will think of is not a waking moment that I do not think of you._

_Perhaps if you come north I can escape the drudgery of school and see you. Until then I will have to be content with meeting you in the shadowy world of dreams._

_Your Tom._

"Not bad," the inner voice assessed. "I think _I'm _in love with you."

Tom's lips spread into a devilish grin. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the red ribbon he had pinched from Rebecca, the kitchen maid. He tied it into a neat little bow. Taking out his wand, he whispered enchantments over the ribbon. He folded the letter around the perfect bow and tucked both into an envelope.

Opening the small and grimy window, he leaned out and whistled. An owl coasted smoothly into the room. Tom handed the letter off to the owl and instructed the bird where to take it. When the avian messenger did not move, Tom scowled and reached into his pocket for his last sweet. The owl snatched it greedily out of his hand and soared off into the night.

Tom watched it go. When he could no longer see the feathery shape through the smoke and dirt of the city, he closed the window. Already he felt impatient and anxious for the girl's reply.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Tom and the world of Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. Cora, Joseph and the Majestic belong to me. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended in its creation.

Thanks: **Sachita**, I am so glad you are enjoying it! It is cathartic, just getting this story into words and out of my head. And it is just icing on the cake that people are actually reading it. Again, if this story is lacking in any area, please leave me a comment.

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Nine

Balancing On The High Wire

London, June 1945

There it all lay, stretched out like a bejeweled robe. The whloe world. Or at least all the world she'd ever known. The Thames sparkled and glittered as it snaked away from the metropolis, all decked out in its evening splendor. Lights shone from nearly every window on this night. A night of joy and celebration. London was a grande dame, the belle of the ball, showing off for the dark countryside around her tonight.

Cora clutched Tom as if her very life depended on it. Indeed, he could not convice her otherwise, no matter how many ways he showed her he would never let her fall. The wind from this high up was a stout gale that buffeted her fine satin evening gown and threatened to pull her from his firm grip around her waist. She was terrified of heights. But the view!

Not even a pigeon had a better vantage point as it wheeled over the dome of St. Paul's. They stood atop the intricate stone work of Big Ben, the stately clock tower. The vibrations as the clock chimed the hour on this momentous night resonated in her bones. Tom had cast a charm protecting them from the the deafening toll of the bells, but she could still feel the rattle in her teeth. Fireworks boomed softly off in the distance.

Tom pulled her closer as she shivered in the night's damp chill. He lowered his lips to her ear and she shivered again. He smiled in satisfaction at her very physical reaction to his closeness. Letting his lips brush her soft skin just below her ear, he breathed in the scent of her. So warm and real.

He wrapped his arms closer around her, feeling the sudden heat of her. Resting his chin on her silky shoulder he looked out over the distance. "This could be all yours someday," he whispered to her. "I could give you the whole world."

The shimmer of the city's lights shone brightly in her dark eyes as she turned to face him. He met her eyes and saw in them the wonder even he felt at his words. Glancing back at the great realm sprawling below, he understood that it all meant absolutely nothing-power, victory over his enemies, over death-if he did not possess her as well.

"Marry me," he asked her with a simplicity that belied the storm raging inside him.

Glasgow, October 1943

The rain spattered the canvass as man and beast struggled to raise the tents in the torrent. Mud churned under hooves as the horses stamped and strained to pull the great pylons to their upright position. Cora tugged the reigns, leading Lightning and urging him on. The men gripped the thick ropes and heaved, fighting agains wind, water and mud. Even Ruby was out in the gale, huffing and swearing at Buttermilk.

Joseph was on the other end of the crew, encouraging Ellie to pull, the great elephant's feet sinking deeper and deeper into the slop beneath them. Joseph pulled along side of the beast, muscles straining as he pulled at his own rope, all the while speaking patient words to her. The elephant slipped and slid back a few paces, catching the eye of the Baron. He was on her in a flash, prodding stick in hand, giving her a mighty slash to the backside.

"Pull, you stupid animal!" he bellowed as the elephant trumpeted in distress. The Baron gave her a few more hard jabs with the metal-tipped prod. Ellie swayed back and forth, sending the huge pylon into a dangerous pedulum swing. The men swore and yelled, a few dropping their ropes to run for cover. Peter, hollering for the men to hold their positions, shouted to this end then that. Soon the pylon was righted and secured. Joseph had dropped his rope and rushed to Ellie's head, soothing her and petting her, speaking soft words of comfort to calm her.

The Baron stalked around to him, squelching in the thick mud. He swung the prod at Joseph, catching him in the shoulder. Joseph could have easily reached out and grabbed the stick before the blow landed, but was wise enough to take the beating. Marco had come up to stand just behind the Baron. Marco was nearly seven feet of pure brute and was very, very loyal.

"Idiot!" the Baron shouted, coming very close. "We could have all been killed!" His face was red with rage. He turned to face the crew, dripping and huffing with exertion. "I should know better," the Baron called as he stalked away from Joseph and Ellie, throwing his hands up in dismissal. "Never trust a foreigner!" This earned a few guffaws from the men, and a number of nasty names aimed cuttingly at Joseph.

When the laughter had died down and the Baron had found someone else to bully, Peter barked out further orders for the crew. Cora handed off the reigns that hung limply in her hands to Darla and headed toward the boy and the elephant. A slick hand on her arm stopped her. She looked up into the stern face of her father, his dark hair dripping in his face.

"Leave it be," he cautioned her quietly.

She shook of his hand, but did not take another step. Turning to other tasks, Cora set her mind to finding her friend later. With an uneasy, sinking feeling she watched as Joseph labored on, eyes on the ground and everyone keeping their distance from him as if he had some disease that they could catch. It made her angry and sad. And ashamed. She too was keeping her distance.

When the big top had finally been raised and the storm had blown itself out, she trudged wearily back to her boxcar alone. Dripping and shivering, she tugged the sodden scarf from her slick, wet hair and hung it over the back of a rickety chair. Impatient to get cleaned up and find Joseph, she carelessly tugged a towel off of a shelf over her father's cot. The towel caught on a corner of an old cigar box, upending it on the threadbare blanket of the cot.

Cora blew out a sigh. The contents were scattered over the bed and the floor. She bent to pick them up. Letters, she noted. Though she hadn't even been reading for more than a month, she knew enough to pick out some words. These letters were from her mother. A huge lump stuck in her throat. She tucked those letters back into the box. Thinking of her mother was too painful and she had almost forgiven her for sending her off and then checking out of this world. More words, she doubted, wouldn't help to heal the wound. She had no desire to resurrect ghosts tonight.

There was another stack of letters all tied together with string that, curiously, tickled a memory. An owl delivering a letter. A letter to her. She tore the first letter off of the stack and read as much as she could. A school had wanted her. Tom's school, she guessed. Anger burned up any other feeling the letters stirred in her. He had lied to her. Her own father had lied to her!

Cora balled the letter and stuffed it into the pocket of her soaked overalls and stalked out the door. Her feet took her in the direction of the big top, the flags blowing happily in a gentle evening wind. The air was still thick with the rain of earlier and the mud still stuck to her boots, but there was a calmness to the scene now.

The giant striped hull of the tent was empty, she could tell before she took more than six steps. She turned in the other direction. If the work was done, they would all be drinking and celebrating. And where there was gin and cards, there she would find him.

She threw aside the flaps of the dirty canvas mess tent and the warm gaslight caused her to blink a few times, eyes adjusting from the dark of the night. The noise was defening and on any other night she would have found it cheery and pleasant after such a hard day of work. Peter, the gruff foreman, was singing a bawdy limmerick while Roger, the wizened old quartermaster of sorts and one of the first circus faces she'd seen the day she arrived, scratched away on his violin. Fat Mag was doing a raunchy jig with Phillipe, the tattooed man, and Darla and Daisy were twirling around like dirvishes. Everyone was having a good time.

"Cora," Daisy called as she danced with her sister. "Come and join us, darling!" They laughed their tinkling laughs. She smiled but shook her head.

Frank was sitting at the card table, shirtsleeves rolled up and all his wages from the week on the table. He was frowning into his hand and shuffling cards around.

"We're not getting any younger, you know," Tim harangued. 'Tiny' Tim was the only clown left. Only three feet high, he had a knack for training dogs to do just about anything. His scruffy mutt, Bob, could smoke a pipe while wearing a monocle and top hat. Bob could play a little toy piano. And Bob scared the bejesus out of Marco, probably the only reason Tim had lasted so long. "Call it, or fold, you cheep bastard!" he called gruffly to Frank, biting the end of a cigar stub.

Frank pressed his lips together hard before throwing his cards on the table. "Aw, take it!" he groused, upending his tumbler of gin down his throat. He shoved back from the table, preparing to leave the game. Cora stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Was that all of it?" she asked, disbelieving. It looked like a lot of money on the table. _Their_ money.

Scowling, Frank shoved her hand aside. "I don't see how it's any of your business." He grabbed his coat off the chair and shoved in his arms, damp shirtsleeves still rolled up to his elbows. He was about to run away to the pub, maybe sell a few illusions for a pint or two, depending on the suckers in the bar.

Cora threw the letter on the table. "This_ is _my business!" she yelled, feeling the irreverent thrill of it. She never raised her voice to her father.

Frank froze, arm halfway through his last sleeve. "Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice dangerous and low. The crew and performers had stopped their revelry and watched father and daughter as they squared off.

"You know where," she spat. "Why would you do something so, so... mean!"

He looked at her with forced patience. "I was protecting you." He tried to sound fatherly, but he had little practice.

"Protecting_ yourself_, is more like it." Cora fisted her hands on her hips. "You don't care about anyone else."

Frank pulled himself up to his full height. "How dare you!" Red faced, he raged at her. "I gave you everything! You would be nothing without me! _Nothing_!"

"No!" she challenged. Stepping closer, she matched him for all his indignant anger. "You," she shouted. "It is _you_ who would be nothing without me!"

He raised a hand and slapped her hard across the face. Peter grabbed his hand as he swung back again. "Hey now," Peter called to Frank, his words gentle but his hand firm around his wrist. "Easy. No call for that, now."

Frank swayed a bit in the bigger man's grasp. "Ungrateful brat," he slurred.

Cora pressed her small hand over the spot where her father hit her. She tasted the coppery taste of blood. Through the sting of tears, she only saw red. Daisy and Darla rushed over to her and petted and stroked her, glaring at Frank in a show of solidarity. Cora pushed aside their hands. "I hate you," she hissed at her father and shoved her way out of the tent.

The hot tears overflowed and slid down her stinging cheek. That bastard, that bastard! was all she heard in her skull. He had stolen a whole life from her. But what hurt the most was that he had taken her choice. Her freedom. There was a time when she would have gladly stayed. She'd once loved the circus, called it home. And she had loved her father. Thought that, in his rough way, he loved her as well. As she walked toward the night-shrouded big top, she couldn't help but see the jolly red and white stripes as prison bars, holding her in. Keeping her hostage.

Flinging aside the closed flaps, she entered the cavernous space of the huge circus arena. Her boots squished down into the mud that still covered the ground. Running a hand over her eyes to rid herself of the bitter tears, she blinked into the dim light of the space. A few gas lanterns were hung here and there, mostly above her high up in the rigging, giving off a faint and flickering golden glow like an old moving picture. She looked up.

Climbing like a spider over a web, a lone figure still worked in the tent, checking the knots and connections of the trapeze rigging and the high wire. She watched the man from her hidden spot in the shadows as he nimbly swung across the space, so high above the ground. He flipped up and down over the swing, every now and again pausing to adjust it. Then he swung far out and, coming back, landed lightly on the platform. He untied a knot and tied it back again more securely. Then he dropped down to the high wire. He caught the wire and, balancing easily, he knelt to inspect some element where it attatched to the support.

Cora let out a gasp, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Still the sound was defening in the big empty space. She couldn't help it, though. He had yet to string the safety net.

The man's head snapped up sharply at the sound, but he did not otherwise move from his crouched position. "Hello," Joseph called to her unenthusiastically before bending to his work again.

"Hello," she answered. Shuffling her feet in the mud, she looked away feeling like an intruder. "I didn't realize anyone was still in here." Her words were so weak in her own ears, she couldn't imagine that he understood her from so far away.

He shrugged, his hands busy with something unseen. "Still work to be done." He didn't look up at her as he spoke.

"How's Ellie?" she asked, then regretted it the moment she saw him stiffen.

"Fine," he answered her and began climbing back up a wobbly rope ladder to the platform above.

She pushed her hands into her still damp pockets, taking a few steps forward. "Joseph, I..." she began.

"It's fine," he interrupted sharply.

She was surprised by how much his words stung. She'd never had a harsh word from him before. And she found that it hurt worse than the slap Frank had given her.

Pulling up easily on the platform, she saw his muscular arms flex, but the movement looked effortless. He was surprisingly graceful. "It's fine," he said again, more gently this time. "Forget it."

Her face pulled down into a frown and she strode forward, looking up at him fully. "It's not fair."

Looking down at her, he stared back for a good long moment. She couldn't read the war of feelings she saw there. It was too much. "No," he said finally with a bitter sadness to his words. "Not much in life is."

Taking the bar in his hands again, he swung out over the impossible emptiness. Her belly did a little flip flop as she watched him let go, reverse directions and catch the bar easily again. He began training with the twins almost from the day he'd arrived, even performing a couple of times when Daisy or Darla had not been well enough for the daring acts. She'd always chalked it up to the fact that he seemed to be naturally good at climbing and not a bit afraid of heights. The truth of the matter was, Joseph had to work twice as hard and take on twice as much as any other member of the circus. He never complained. Never.

She left Joseph to his work and headed back into the night. Walking sulkily back to her boxcar, she couldn't shake the sharp sting of injustice. If Joseph could bear it with quiet dignity, then he was the better man for it. She, however, could not. That night she packed up all her meager belongings and moved into the car Daisy, Darla and Fat Mag shared. She would not forgive what her father had done.

She felt the heady rush, like what she imagined she would feel standing on the high wire. The balance of her life had shifted. From what she understood, she had two options: she could take control of her life. Or fall.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Tom and the world of Harry Potter are the property of J. K. Rowling. Cora, Joseph and the Majestic Circus belong to me. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended.

Thanks: **Sachita**,** Opuria **and **LilyMoon.x**! Thanks for reading and I am glad you are enjoying it!

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Ten

A Solo Act

Glasgow, October 1943

The sun shone a merry pink through her closed eyelids. Cora walked along the length of the train, letting her fingers trail over the rough wooden boards. She used it as a guide as she walked, soaking up the rare and warm October sunshine. The wind was chilly when it came up from behind her, but the sun was strong today and chased the chill away instantly. The warmth on her face felt so soothing, she let it lead her along blindly.

Her head was still too full of the night before, her heart still burning at the memory. Her father was sleeping it off somewhere, she thought acidly. When he finally emerged, disheveled and hung over, she knew they would have to sort it all out. It was something she was not looking forward to.

She was not a little girl anymore, she steeled herself mentally. Everyone had seen it but her. She had been blind, pretending all along that her father loved her, for all his gruff ways of showing it, like a child playing make believe. Funny though, she was the only one surprised to find that she had been used all along. Humiliated, but now her eyes were open. Daisy and Darla, Mag... all of them had known and she hadn't. What a stupid little fool she had been!

Raising her face fully to the sun, she breathed in deeply, feeling the heat sink in through her sleek black hair. Darla had insisted on a make over for Cora's hair, deeming it very unfashionable to keep up the low bun and uniform waves. After a lot of pulling and curling and pinning, Darla was pleased. Proudly showing Cora her reflection in a cloudy hand mirror, Cora had not recognized herself at first. Her dark locks were pinned back in silky rolls and fell in soft waves over her shoulder. She looked older. Like someone worth something, someone who was capable of standing on her own.

Darla had let Cora escape for the moment as she and Daisy left to rehearse, but made her promise to be back before the show with enough time for Daisy to do her make up properly. Daisy didn't have to say anymore. There was a fat purple streak across Cora's cheek bone where her father had hit her the night before and she was happy to have some help covering it up. Her anger flared again at her father.

The rough wooden boards suddenly disappeared from beneath her fingers and she blinked into the bright sunlight. It took precious seconds for her eyes to adjust to the glare. Opening and closing her eyes stupidly, she heard a voice that made her want to immediately turn and leave.

"Well," breathed a posh, upper-crust London drawl and Cora could see the red lips in her mind's eye form perfectly around the syllable. "Just look at you." Ruby.

Finally able to take in the scene she had stumbled upon, Cora made a step backward but she knew she was caught. Instead of retreating, she did what she had always done. She froze.

Ruby's long, lean legs were wrapped in black riding trousers and a man's white shirt tied around her middle, showing off too much of her slim waist and sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She was running the horses through their paces. The blond cloud of Ruby's hair was tied back in a colorful scarf. She looked like a movie star as she tied off the reins of the horse she lead around the corral. Gracefully she flipped herself over the makeshift fence where the horses were kept before the show. With a sneer on her perfectly red lips, she strolled casually up to Cora.

Cora, in the same old overals and shirt, with its flower pattern and the rounded collar of a girl much younger than she was, felt like a mouse. She gritted her teeth, covering her jealousy with petulance.

Ruby looked her up and down. "New hair style?" she asked lightly, an amused smile turning up the corner of her mouth. "Don't you just look so grown up," she continued in mock sweetness when Cora remained silent. Ruby took a few lazy strides around the other girl, looking her over from every angle. "Ready to be a star, are you? Take some advice from someone who's been there."

Cora fidgeted uncomfortably.

"You want it?" Ruby continued, puting a hand on her hip and leaning in toward Cora. "You want to be a star? You have to earn it." The last was said with a biting edge.

Shrinking away, Cora watched her in confusion. A bird watching a cat as it circled the tree.

Ruby reached out a slender, elegant hand and smoothed Cora's smart new curls. The gesture was oddly sisterly and affectionate and Cora was on her guard. Ruby considered the young girl for a long, uncomfortable moment. Something haunting flitted across Ruby's crystal colored eyes, before they returned to their usual steel. "Some have a talent for getting to the top," she commented airly, "And I don't think you've got what it takes, darling." Ruby patted her roughly on the cheek, still stinging from her father's hand.

"You don't know the first thing about me." Cora wanted to suck the words back in as soon as she said them.

A feral smile twisted Ruby's lips and she laughed. "We're all the same," she answered bitterly. "You, me...those two blond bimbos you're so fond of. We all want to be someone...to be loved and adored." She brushed a stray lock out of her eyes and shrugged. "The question is, really, are you willing to do anything to get what you want? And I mean _anything_."

The question left Cora feeling cold despite the warm sunshine falling on them both. What had Ruby done to get where she was? And what was Cora willing to do to get what she wanted? Cora bit her lip before she could get further in over her head. Ruby was special to the boss and that made her a dangerous enemy.

"See," Ruby confirmed, "I don't think you've got it in you." She took a few long strides back to her horses, calling over her shoulder as she left Cora behind, "But best of luck to you, darling!" Cora could hear the chime of her laughter as she walked away.

Walking back toward the bustle of activity at the big top, Cora thought of Ruby's words. What was it that Cora wanted? To be a star and stay at this circus as long as she was allowed? A year or two ago she would have answered with an immediate yes. Her mind wandered to Tom. Mysterious, enigmatic Tom seemed like a mirage. Just when she was convinced he was real, he was gone again.

Even his letters were ephemeral, containing no life and no flesh. Just pretty words on a page that made her heart jump at first and left her cold thereafter. She hungered to know more of him. Where was he from? What did he like to do? What was his family like? What did he learn at school? She was desperate to know. And although she could read the letters, she wasn't at all confident that she could write to him yet and beg to know more of him, without giving herself away. She couldn't bear to have him know her shortcomings, not when he was so perfect to her. So high above her in every way.

Was it Tom that she wanted? Cora's heart made a little flip. Yes. She wanted him badly. Wanted to share his world, that fairyland filled with magic. Ruby's words came back to her. What was she willing to do for Tom? What was she willing to give up for him? She watched her circus family hustle in the afternoon light like aggitated ants on a red and white striped anthill. Her family. Her world.

The afternoon light painted everything with a golden luster. The flags waved merrily from the apex of the big top and colorful banners advertising various curiosities and sideshows rippled in the breeze. It was a grand afternoon for a show and, despite the storm that had been raging inside of Cora all morning, she couldn't help but feel her spirits lift a little. She looked around at all the activity. Tim, the clown, was just ahead with Mutt. The pair were practicing a trick involving a broom and a banana peel.

Cora approached the man and the dog, the latter abandoning his master and running to Cora for a treat. Mutt stamped his foot happily on the muddy ground as Cora scratched his belly.

"You're a menace," Tim groused as he stalked up to the girl and the dog carrying the abandoned broom and rubbing the lump on his head where the handle had hit him. "Both of you," he clarifyied, glaring daggers at the girl and the dog.

"Have you seen Frank?" Cora asked Tim as he continued to grumble.

Tim looked at her skeptically. "Not since last night. I dumped him on his cot after he took a leak on my shoes, the bastard." He frowned and glanced around. "You haven't seen 'em?"

Cora shook her head. "I moved my stuff over to Daisy and Darla's after..."

Tim reached up and patted her hand. "Smart girl. I know Frank's got a temper, but it don't give him the right. Get what I'm saying?"

Cora gave Tim a wan smile. Even though he was more tolerant of Frank than most, it felt good to know that he was on her side. "Thanks," she replied.

Tim whistled to Mutt. "Frank'll turn up, 'e always does. Like a bad penny!" He laughed hoarsly at his own joke and grabbed up the broom again, getting back to the trick and his dog. "When you find 'em," he called to her as she started toward the huge tent, "he owes me ten quid!"

Cora waved bye to the two, deciding to head away from the boxcar she shared with her father. He was probably still passed out, reeking of vomit and urine. Slowly, she shook her head. Not today. He was an adult and he was not her problem today. Not. Her. Problem.

Stepping into the cool cavernous space under the canvas of the circus tent, Cora gazed around at all that was going on. Peter was working with one of the big cats in the center ring, a few of the crew milling about to watch. Mag and Ellie were absently shelling peanuts and popping them into their mouths, their eyes trained above them. High up on the trapeze graceful figures flipped and tumbled over the great space, so easy and carefree. Darla and Daisy were giggling as some joke was exchanged with the other acrobat, dangling above the girls. Joseph, hanging upside down was too high for Cora to hear but whatever he said must have been highly amusing. The girls laughed again and Darla reached up to swat at him flirtatiously.

Cora's eyes narrowed as she watched the exchange, the irritation she felt earlier in the day turning down the corners of her mouth. Joseph flipped forward over the bar he'd been dangling from and landed easily beside her friends on the high platform. Daisy smiled as Joseph slid his hands around her waist and lifted her to reach the bar. In her ears she heard Ruby's voice again._ "We're all the same, even those blond bimbos. We want to be loved and adored."_

"Cora!"

She jumped as she heard her name echo in the arena. Darla was waving frantically at her, hopping up and down on the impossibly tiny platform. Cora blushed as if she were caught filching cookies, ashamed for feeling...spiteful? She couldn't exactly say what she felt, but it was certainly unfriendly. She gave a small, tentative wave.

Cora's heart plummeted as Darla leapt off the platform and landed in the net below, gaining her feet on the first bounce. Easily she walked to the edge of the giant spider-web-like net and flipped herself over the edge. "Daisy," she called up to her sister as she danced lightly over to Cora's side and taking her hand. Daisy let go of the swing she was on, so impossibly high up, and landed like her sister in the net.

"Ready to finish the job?" Daisy said, clapping her hands like an excited child.

Cora tried to smile cheerfully. "Do your worst," she said with false glee.

"Yay!" the girls cried as they dragged Cora off to finish her make over. Cora looked back over her shoulder just in time to see Joseph's longing look after the two bubbly girls as they disappeared.

London, October 1943

Tom stared, confused.

"Oooh, pretty," the girl next to him shrieked in his ear. "Who gave you that, Tom?"

Turning his dark eyes to the girl, he gave her a withering glare. Viktoria Crowley was too nosey for her own good. She had a gift for sticking her nose where it didn't belong. Her sharp, pointy, nose. Tom shifted in his spot, putting his shoulder between the girl and the curiosity before him.

It was infuriating! Every morning for the better part of a month Tom had actually expected mail. Never having had anyone to write to him, he couldn't understand the elation that the children all around him exuded as they recieved a note here or a package there. He thought an owl dropping objects on one's breakfast was not at all desirable. Until now.

Every morning he looked to the high windows in anticipation. Nothing. And then today, a gray, windblown owl arrived with a rumpled envelope the size of his _History of Magic_ book. Opening it, Tom found a funny twisted mass of paper. Slowly it unraveled itself, forming an odd and lumpy cone shape. It was a circus tent of paper and ink. Inside, tiny paper acrobats swung and soared, little elephants and lions marched around and clowns juggled. It all looked just as it had the last time he saw her. The charms and spellwork were impressive, yet subtle and delicate. The miniatures were all so life-like.

Tom stuck a hand into the envelope. Nothing. There was no note to accompany the moving sculpture of paper. Frowning, he watched the mini circus, wondering what it was supposed to mean. Why would she send him this? Did she think him childish, that he would be impressed by a toy?

Ignoring the whispered words of Viktoria and her gaggle of friends behind him, he examined the folded paper more carefully. There had to be a message somewhere. He had sent her three letters already. A reply was owed him, really.

And then a slow smile spread across his face. A poster had been drawn on the front of the tent advertising the circus to the city of Glasgow. She wanted him to come to Glasgow! That had to be it.

"Is that from a girl?" Viktoria asked, drawing out the word "girl" in a shrill little sing-song. Her friends giggled in a twittery chorus, a flock of spying, pestering birds in Slytherin robes.

"Yes," he admitted evenly, pleased a bit when the twittering ceased so abruptly.

"Who is she?" Betty Thacker demanded.

Tom rested his chin on his folded hands resting on the table, the better to peer inside the candy striped tent. He was barely listening to his nosey housemates for his mind began to scheme. Glasgow was not exactly an easy distance. There was a Quidditch game this afternoon, but would that be too late to serve as a cover? It would be difficult to sneak away before. It wasn't likely that he would really be missed, anyway. Tom's eyes drifted to the teachers watching dutifully from the front of the room. He was not surprised to meet Dumbledore's curious gaze. The old man's face was neutral, but Tom could read in that look all the suspicion that hid behind the mask. Tom turned his focus back to the crafty origami dancing befoe him.

"Come on, Tom," Viktoria whined. "Tell us!"

Sitting up straight, he began folding up the little circus carefully and tucked it in the envelope. He stepped over the long bench and shoved his books under one arm, the envelope nestled safely between the stack. "She's nobody important," he answered blandly before he strode out of the hall, feeling Dumbledore's suspicious glare like ice on his back.

Just before he stepped beyond the threshold of the door, he allowed himself a small smirk. A second later the flock of twittering girls all shrieked as one. Their cups of juice and tea suddenly upended, soaking the girls in the sticky liquid. Maybe next time they would keep out of his concerns.

Glasgow, October 1943

Biting her lip, tasting the thick waxy lipstick Daisy had painted on her earlier that evening, she glanced over her shoulder nervously one last time. Where was he? Butterflies danced wildly in her stomach and her chest felt tight. Frank was nowhere to be found and Cora would have to go on without him. She had never done a solo act. Frank was the showman of the duo and he never let her forget it. A sick twist of worry knotted itself just behind her belly button. Anger melted away to concern. Where was he?

Her nervous gaze was intercepted by the Baron. He raised his palms to the sky and shrugged, glaring sternly in her direction. Daisy and Darla were finishing their act to wild applause and the Baron strode past her to announce Ruby and her amazing dancing horses. As he passed he hissed in her ear, his hot breath tickling her face, "Your father is a dead man!"

Ruby sauntered past, leading her elegant team into the ring. She gave Cora a slippery smile. "You better be sensational tonight, darling. We'd hate to lose both of you!"

Cora rubbed her palms on the short flounces of her black and white skirt. They were slick with sweat. Her heart was beating so fast, like the rat-a-tat-tat of the snare drum. She closed her eyes and took a mighty breath, letting it out slowly. Calm, she needed to calm down.

"Hey." She jumped as she felt a hand on her arm, so gentle and so unexpected. She spun around to face the quiet voice. It was Joseph bringing Ellie in for her act. Ellie flapped her great big ears at the sound of the crowd. It was the largest audience yet.

Cora allowed her shoulders to relax. Her hands were slick again. She raked them over her skirt and turned anxiously back to the crowd.

"Are you alright?" Joseph asked, concern in his kind eyes. He did not move his hand from where it rested steadily on her arm. She was shaking and her eyes looked like Lightning's when he was spooked by a summer storm. His inspecting gaze came to rest on the dark shadow over her cheek. His jaw tightened and a hard glint came into his eyes. He'd heard about the argument. He'd been too busy to bother, though. No, he thought, he'd made himself too busy.

She whispered, haunted. "It's Frank," she confided. "I was awful. I said some things...And now no one seems to know where he is!" Her voice rose in panic. She turned to face him fully, grabbing the arm that held her so steadily. "I can't do this alone."

"You can," he assured her. "You have to." They turned their attention as one to the Baron, grandstanding as Ruby performed. Cora and Joseph, indeed the whole company, knew what the stakes were. Joseph grabbed her by the arms and pulled her to face him. "Listen to me, Cora. You will go out there and knock them dead. Don't hold anything back. I'll find Frank," he said with a confidence that she felt in her bones. "Trust me."

She nodded. "I do."

The crowd was roaring again and Ruby was basking in the glow of the adoration. The Baron announced Cora with a booming voice and Cora felt a cold hand grip her heart. She turned again to the entrance and the awaiting crowd. Squaring her shoulders she marched out passed Ruby and the horses. She could do this, she told herself. She had to.

Stepping into the center ring, to modest applause, she shoved the anxious butterflies far down inside of her. She put a radiant smile on and waved to the crowd, her mind racing in circles. Her heart raced. She felt like she was ten years old again, only her father wasn't drunk beside her, he wasn't beside her at all. That night had been alright, she buoyed herself. She'd scraped by that night on her own.

As she looked around the crowd, her eyes locked onto a pair of fathomless dark ones. He was here! She beamed and he returned the favor with a smile of his own. She slipped her hand into the satin ribbon around her waist and retrieved her good luck charm. It was a little red bow. The one Tom had sent her over a month ago. She held it in her palm, presenting it to the crowd. The silky scarlet ribbon fluttered once, and again. The audience gasped as it took flight, lifting gently off of her open hand, dancing on the still air. She caught his eye and grinned, their understanding mutual. Hello, friend!

With Tom in the crowd she felt heartened. She let her gaze follow the lone little ribbon butterfly for a minute or two as it bobbed over the heads of the circus goers. Some boys even jumped to catch it, the butterfly always dancing out of reach just in time. She closed her eyes and felt the tingling power within her. When she opened her eyes, the butterfly had divided into a few dozen. The butterflies flew in a frenzy of scarlet, creating a tiny storm of red. Then, just as quickly as they had divided, they were one again. She tucked it away in her waistband.

The crowd laughed as she borrowed a pair of shoes from a lady and gentleman in the front row. Arranging the pairs opposite of each other, she silently enchanted each pair to dance as if worn by an invisible couple. A waltz first, lovely and romantic, then a lively Jitterbug. The lady and gentleman, when Cora had returned their shoes, spent many minutes inspecting them for some clue how it was done. But soom the oxfords and pumps were once again on their owners' feet, ordinary as ever.

Cora was bouyant. Her worry had not exactly dissolved. It had merely shrunk to take up less space in her mind. She found that she was having fun! Every now and then she would catch Tom's steady dark gaze and her heart felt lighter still. It was a surprise at first to see him in the crowd. So much had happened the night before that she had all but forgotten the intricate origami circus she had finished not two days earlier. She had practiced four times before she was pleased with the lone word she had written on it, the subtle message that she had not been convinced was clear enough. Glasgow. Yet here he was.

She was having so much fun, she was a little sad to find that her time was nearly up and it would be Ellie's turn to dazzle. Time for one more trick, and she needed to make it a good one. She knew the perfect way to end her act, but for some reason, it was the one thing that she had yet been able to accomplish. So many times she had envisioned it. One minute there, the next minute gone, applause sounding wildly to an empty ring. She could see it, but she could not make it happen. She wanted to vanish right before the audience's eyes.

Oh, well. She would stick to what she knew. Shape-shifting and levitation. Easy stuff, but impressive enough. She borrowed a neat black hat from another gentleman in the crowd and placed it jauntily on her head. With a theatrical little pirrouette, she made the hat rise a few inches off the glossy black waves of her hair. It rose higher and higher, changing shape, growing rounder. Cora looked up with a bemused expression. The hat was now a black balloon was rising steadily toward the apex of the giant tent.

A gasp from a woman in the back and a shout from a few other patrons grabbed the crowd's attention. Their hats too had abandoned their heads and floated above them. One rather portly man made a valiant leap for his dusty gray bowler. Indeed every hat in the audience was climbing higher and higher into the circus stratosphere, becoming red, brown, yellow, black, gray, emerald and even peacock blue balloons. A buzzing murmur passed through the crowd as the ladies complained, gentlemen protested and children laughed and squealed at the merry game.

Cora let the tension rise a little and then she clapped her hands together with an audible snap. Each and every balloon popped and dozens of hats fell, without exeption, onto the head of its owner. The aplause was wild and Cora took a few more bows than her father would have ever allowed. She skipped out of the center ring with light steps, and the Baron was calling in the last act over the sustained cheers. She felt ten feet off the ground.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Tom and the world of Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. Cora, Joseph and the Majestic belong to me. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended.

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Eleven

The Bargain

Glasgow, October 1943

The moon was high and wisps of clouds drifted through a chilly October sky. After the grand finale, Cora searched desperately through the crowd for Tom, but he seemed to have disappeared. She had all but forgotten the other she had been frantic to find earlier. Her father would turn up, so she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Besides, Joseph promised to find him. She turned her thoughts back to Tom. Leaving the tent behind and making her way along the ornate carts that housed the few exotic animals the circus still posessed, Cora let her eyes rake over every figure left milling about by the cages.

Rex and Goliath, the two lions, yawned sleepily as three children screamed in fright. The pair were unconcerned and rested their shaggy heads on their paws for a nap. A little girl with an enormous bow on her head stood next to an older boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen. He wore a dark jacket over brown trousers. Cora's heart fluttered like the little ribbon butterfly, but when he turned and grabbed the little girl's hand to go, she could see he was not Tom. The crowd was growing thinner and so was her hope of finding him tonight.

Rounding the cart that housed the only reptile in the circus, she heard a curious sort of hissing. If Phillipe was feeding Nagini, the giant snake, she was not keen on watching. She quickened her pace and dared not to look at whatever helpless creature happened to be dinner.

The hissing stopped suddenly and she heard a voice breathe her name, just barely above a whisper. "Cora."

She turned. "Tom!" she shouted with a little too much enthusiasm.

He took a step forward, his eyes taking in her breathless appearance, her windblown hair and wild, dazzling eyes. "You found me." He took another step.

She smiled and looked away, turning her head this way and that, glancing up and down the rows of cages. "I didn't expect to find you here."

His hands suddenly itched to touch her, to assure himself that she was real. What a ludicrous thought, he chastised himself. Of course she is real. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers. Nodding over his shoulder at the snake coiled in her cage, he explained, "I like snakes." He came closer. "This one is a beauty. She's from Burma, you know."

Her eyes glinted in excitement. Finally she had some knowledge of him. She lapped it up greedily. "Oh, do you recognize it from a book or something?" she asked simply to keep the information coming. She, for one, couldn't care less for snakes. They were creepy. The way Phillipe liked to let Nagini wrap herself all over his limbs, so casually, gave her the willies.

"No," he said with a distinct London accent. "She told me," he clarified.

"Told you?" Her curiosity was piqued. She crossed the distance between her and the cage, brushing Tom's sleeve as she hurried to inspect the newly interesting creature. "She can talk?" Nagini shied away from her as Cora pressed the glass with her hands, getting a better look.

Tom resolutely left his hands tucked in his pockets but turned to face the cage as well. She was so close now. "She can talk to me," he qualified.

Cora turned and gave him a quizzical look. "You're joking, right?"

He just shook his head.

Her eyes grew wide and she bounced a little from foot to foot jovially. "Do they teach you that at school?" she asked in a rush. "Can you talk to any other animals?"

"No," he answered, "and no. It seems it's just me. You're the first person I've told, actually." He was delighted to see her face light up at this confession. She was an easy one to read.

She looked back at Nagini, bemused. "I would love to talk to horses," she added thoughtfully.

He frowned. "Horses? Why?" He looked over to Nagini as she let a low hiss escape her slithering tongue. "They don't strike me as stirring conversationists."

She laughed. "I don't know. I would love to hear how it feels to run so fast. Nothing to hold you back."

"Except a fence," he smirked without thinking and for a moment he feared she would take offence. But she only laughed.

"I guess you're right," she said between bubbles of laughter. "We all of us have our cages here, right Nagini?" she turned and addressed the snake. The reptile hissed back.

Tom smiled. At least the snake had the sense to be displeased about her cage. Tom sympathised. He had his cage as well. For the time being, anyway. That would change one day.

"I enjoyed the show tonight," he remarked affably, changing the subject. "Except for the part where you ripped me off," he finished bluntly.

Her smile fell. "I thought you might like it," she replied, wounded.

"Well," he kept on with the disdainful tone. "I did." Her face broke into a bright smile, like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky. "It really was impressive magic," he complemented. "How do you manage to manipulate so many things at once?" he asked her honestly the question that had been burning through his mind as he watched the magic act. "And without a wand, no less. That's very advanced spellwork." He kept his tone light and chummy, but he was so eager to know the answer.

She shrugged her shoulders, furrowing her brow in thought. "I don't really know how," she confessed. "I just picture what I want and, somehow, it happens." She bit her strawberry lip nervously. "Is that weird?"

Tom studied the ground, considering. "Well," he began once he had organized his thoughts, "every child can do magic the way you can...they just can't control it." Tom smiled ruefully and added, "Every magical child, I mean. Muggles can't, of course." The way his mouth twisted around the word Muggle made it sound like a dirty word. "As children learn to control magic, channeling it through the magical core of a wand, something fades. It is not so easy to do magic without a wand once you have begun relying on it to focus your power."

Cora felt a sinking feeling in her gut. "So I'm a freak," she surmised. "I'm no better than a child?"

"No," he countered quickly. "The magic you are capable of without the aid of a wand is extraordianry! Beyond what most mature witches and wizards are capable of. You shouldn't be able to do what you do." He shook his head slowly. "I'm only wondering... is it because you've never relied on a wand? Or is it something else entirely?" His eyes held a strange intensity that Cora found hypnotizing. "Are _you_ something else entirely?"

Cora shifted from foot to foot uneasily, the light of the moon dazzling on her shimmery costume. He watched her closely, how she caught her lip between her teeth in thought, how her fingers curled into her hand, worrying at her palm distractedly. She really was merely a girl, surely no older than he was and maybe even younger, all dolled up like a woman who knew much more of the world. It was clear that, although this girl traveled with a rough crowd, seeing many more places than he had, experiencing things he could only imagine, she was still very unsure of herself. Quite his opposite, in fact.

"I guess I've never known anything else," she explained after a long pause. "My father helped me learn control, and it wasn't easy." She scratched the palm of her hands absently. Tom cocked his head slightly at the curious action.

"How?" he pressed.

Cora looked away, her brilliant eyes clouding over. "Oh, trial and error mostly. I had to keep trying until I could do the task he set for me. However long that took." She smiled, trying to look easy. But to Tom, she just looked sad. "He's a very thorough teacher," she added bitterly.

Tom nodded, satisfied for now with her answer, but he wanted to keep her talking. "Does your father share your abilities?" he asked, already knowing the answer. He regretted asking when her face darkened again and she glanced away. There was the faintest shadow over her pale cheek, hidden beneath the rouge and powder. He understood. He'd felt the sting of a slap, or a cane to his back many times himself. She shifted, back and forth, back and forth, like a caged animal. His intention was not to add to her distress and he was sorry for it.

"No," she answered finally in a small voice. "He can't do the things that I can."

Tom took one step and closed the distance between them. She seemed frightened at first by his sudden proximity. He slipped one hand from his pocket and raised it to her smooth cheek, tracing the fading purple mark softly. His fingers were so cool on her face. She leaned in to his touch, letting her eyes fall closed. Like a magnet, he too found himself pulled into her, coming closer, inch by inch. Her hair smelled warm and faintly sweet, like candy floss. He bent closer, feeling drawn helplessly into her gravity.

A sudden scuffling sound echoed between the now silent cages. Cora startled and jumped back a step, the spell broken. Tom felt the bitter sting of disappointment and turned angrily to the interruption. Two figures were staggering toward them, one nearly dragging the other.

"Cora," one of the men called out to her. Tom put a hand protectively over her arm and moved a few inches in front of her. To his consternation, Cora ducked out from behind his posessive chivalry and jogged the few paces to where the men struggled along the path.

"Joseph!" she called as she approached the rumpled pair and then she gave a shuddering gasp. "What happened to you."

Joseph was half carrying, half dragging an unconscious Frank, struggling under the weight of the helpless man. Blood dripped steadily from Frank's crooked nose. Broken, obviously, Cora assessed. Joseph looked worse. The front of his shirt had been stained scarlet by the slow dribble of blood from a nasty cut on his chin. A vicious welt was rising under one eye, giving his exotic almond-shaped eye a funny cockeyed look.

"Bar fight," Joseph huffed with difficulty. Cora slid her father's limp arm around her neck, shouldering some of the dead weight. "Frank overstayed his welcome."

"And what happened to you?" she asked with more kindness than she had spared for Frank.

Joseph just shook his head. "Nothing I can't handle. Don't worry about it," he said. "Help me get him to his bed."

Cora struggled under her father's weight, even though Joseph shouldered most of the burden. As she passed Tom, she could barely bring herself to look at him. She was ashamed to have him witness this, the dysfunction that was her life. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she passed him by. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw him recoil from her, a look of distaste on his now cold face. She hung her head miserably as she and Joseph manhandled her drunk father to his bed.

Laying her father down, she stared at him, feeling the stinging hate from last night, dulled now by the weary mixture of pity and shame she always felt when confronted by his vice. It was always this same tired dance, the same old act. Over and over like some crazy merry-go-round. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands against his sallow cheeks. Her thoughts were solely on righting the damages, not of easing any pain as she did it. There was a satisfying crack as the bone mended itself and Frank groaned hoarsly but did not wake. It would smart in the morning.

Drained of energy and wallowing in self-pity, she turned her attention to Joseph. He was pressing a dirty handkerchief to his bloody chin and examining the stains on his shirt front. She raised her hand and gently placed it against his cheek. It felt hot from the swelling under his eye. She took a breath and reached down deep for what was left in her. With her eyes closed, she concentrated on Joseph.

Her eyes snapped open as she felt his warm, rough hand cover hers and gently remove it from his face. "No," he said quietly.

She frowned deeply. "Just hold still, alright?" She reached up to touch his cheek once more. Again he took her hand away. "Don't be silly, it's just a cut."

"You're tired," he observed. She felt the truth of his words. She was exhausted. Opening her mouth to protest that she was fine, he smiled kindly and held her hand firmly away. "I'll be fine. It's just a cut, right?"

Cora took the cloth away from his chin. The cut was deep, but narrow. Fresh blood welled up once the pressure was removed. "Here," she said after her examination, fetching a worn but clean cloth to replace the soiled one. She placed the cloth over the cut and held it firmly, placing her other hand against the back of his neck to apply pressure. "Thank you," she added softly. "I owe you."

He tried to shake his head under her steady hands unsuccessfully. "You don't owe me anything."

She breathed a sigh and let her shoulders fall. "Why do I still care, Joseph? He lied to me, he hurts me over and over. It doesn't make any sense."

"He's your father," he answered simply. "You love him." He took the cloth from her hand and she let her arms fall limply to her side. "When you love someone it usually doesn't make sense, you know," he added quietly.

She rubbed the back of her neck and looked back to Frank, a snoring lump on his cot. Staring thoughtfully at her father, she considered Joseph's words. Love indeed was a miserable thing, an unforgiving thing.

"Cora," Joseph said, coming to stand behind her. "That fellow you were talking with before. I don't have a good feeling about him." She stiffened as he put a hand on her shoulder. He let it fall back to his side.

"You don't know him," she countered defensively.

"And you do?"

Cora bristled. "I can't see how that is any of your business." She rounded on him and he was taken aback by the fierceness of her expression. "Besides, thanks to Frank, I'll probably never see him again." She deflated like a shiny balloon. "Can't say that I would blame him."

Joseph wanted to reach out to her, to touch her, to make her smile once more. He left his hand hanging by his side. "He didn't look that stupid to me. Cora, unless he's an absolute idiot, he'll be back." She brightened at this and he was pleased that she was happy once more. The reason for her joy stung a bit, however. "Just be careful, okay?"

She smiled at him and nodded dutifully. "I will. Now," she pushed the hand he held the cloth in back to his bloody chin, "keep that on or I will have no other choice."

At that moment the door was wrenched back and Marco stepped into the cramped space, followed by the Baron. Neither looked pleased. Joseph moved a foot forward slightly, placing himself between the men and Cora.

"Marco," the Baron motioned the imposing man forward, "Mr. Barconi's services are no longer required." Marco moved forward, a distiurbing glint in his eye.

"No!" Cora dodged Joseph and ran to her father's side, hands up to hold the strongman off. "Please, I'll do anything. I'll work off what he owes you, whatever you want!" she pleaded desperately.

"Outta the way," Marco barked as he shoved her roughly aside, his Liverpool origins plain in his words. Cora saw the wink of a silver blade from inside his vest pocket. Her blood went cold. She gave the Baron a panicked glance, but he would not be swayed. Marco grabbed Frank up by the shirtfront. Frank, bleary-eyed and incoherent, swore ferociously at being disturbed.

Cora grabbed one of the man's beefy forearms and tugged, trying in vain to make him unhand her father. Before she realized what had happened, Joseph was in between Frank and Marco. It all happened so fast. Cora saw the flash of the knife's blade and closed her eyes.

Marco screamed, a high-pitched and most unmanly sound. Cora opened her eyes and saw Marco grasping his wrist, the skin of his hand blistered and raw. The knife lay impotently at his feet. Marco whimpered and wailed, staring in disbelief at his hand, but every other eye in the room was trained on Cora. Wide-eyed, Cora looked to over to where the Baron stood silently, unreadable in the gloom. She was in for it now, she thought, trembling all over.

For an eternity the room was silent, save Marco's pitiful sobs. Cora shook her head frantically. "I didn't mean it! Honest, I didn't!"

The Baron regarded her thoughtfully. He clasped his hands over his barrel chest and pursed his fat mustachioed lips together, frowning. "So," he began in a low, ominous tone. "This is the thanks I am to have?" He took two slow steps in their direction. "You are welcomed into my family, I give you work... a place to live."

"She didn't mean anything," Joseph tried carefully, calmly.

"Stay out of it!" the Baron barked roughly turning a searing glare on the boy. He turned his ferocity back to Cora. "Frank stole from me. And I do not tolerate theives."

"Hey, I mrfableguh," Frank defended himself unintelligently before flopping back onto the cot. His final rebuttal was a loud and boorish snore. Cora wrung her hands, glancing between Frank and the Baron.

"What did he steal?" she asked in a rush. "Whatever it was..."

The Baron fisted his hands on his hips. "Tonight he should have been performing. But where was he, eh?" he boomed. "Same as picking my pocket!"

"But," Cora continued in a small voice, "it was fine without him. Right?" she looked between the Baron and Joseph, hoping for confirmation.

The Baron shook his head. "And that makes it acceptable, I suppose?" The imposing man began to pace the room, his footfalls heavy on the rough boards. "What's next? Days off? Holidays? I'll be robbed blind! NO!," he concluded. "I have no use for a drunk good-for-nothing bum. Your father is a waste of space! Marco," he barked to the man still whimpering on the ground. The man looked between his boss and the little whisp of a girl that had put him on the floor. The Baron gestured silently to Frank. Marco hesitated.

Cora swallowed hard. "But you need me," she countered courageously. His eyes grew murderous and she fought the urge to shy away. "You know you do."

His glossy fat moustache quivered in rage and his face turned the same scarlet shade as his coat. "Ungrateful little brat," he spat, but he made no move toward her. From the corner of her eye she saw Joseph tense and watchful. She needed to be bold, but not stupid. Stupid would end with all of them cut out.

"You need me," she said again. "And I need my father. Please." She took a tentative step toward the immovable mountain of a man. "I'll work for half." His eyes brightened a bit at this. She was speaking his language at last. Cora looked back at her father, snoring in peacful intoxication. "And I'll stay." When she focused once again on the Baron, her eyes were icy steel. "You have my word."

The Baron considered. "Agreed." He closed the distance between them in one stride. Looking down from his towering vantage, he assessed her coldly. "And I will hold you to your word," he hissed, glaring nastily over her shoulder to her father. She nodded understanding.

He stalked toward the door, his massive bulk disappearing into the darkness beyond. "Marco," he called. Marco growled as he gained his feet, snatching up his knife in his uninjured hand. Gritting his teeth, he turned from Cora to Joseph. "This isn't over," he snarled, pointing the knife menacingly at his throat. "Watch your back, you yellow bastard!"

Joseph watched him evenly as the strongman stormed out after the boss. When they had gone, Cora and Joseph released a huge breath as one. Cora put a shaking hand on Joseph's arm. He placed his hand over her warm touch.

"What have I done?" Cora breathed, terrified.

"It will be alright," Joseph reasured her as best he could. He tried to believe it himself.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Tom and the world of Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. Cora, Joseph and the Majestic belong to me. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended in its creation.

Thanks: **Sachita**, of course thank you for the faithful and thoughtful reviews. **Ohmyfickleheart**, I hope that was the good kind of "Oh, crap." **Blah blah blah blah**, and **CAHawk** I'm glad you're enjoying. And as always if there are any mistakes or something that could be improved or that you might wish to see added, post a comment for me!

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Twelve

Hide and Seek

Hogsmeade, May 1948

"May I offer you a drink?" he asked out of politeness but she shook her head at the proffered wine with distaste. Anyone who knew her, knew her father, wouldn't have wasted their breath. But this man did not know her. In fact, this was only their third meeting. And it was not what one would term a social call anyway. They met to discuss a mutual acquaintance.

The wizened old man leaned back in his chair behind a wooden table that bore many scars from years of abuse. The first time she laid eyes on him, she had been struck by how feeble he seemed. How utterly wrong her first impression had been. He was a man possessed of a sharp mind, keen and cutting. And Tom feared him greatly. Carried more weight than anything else. The old man regarded her cooly through half-moon spectacles and waited for her to speak. It was she who had requested they meet in the first place, after all.

"Professor," she began after an awkward silence, "I can't help you." A napkin wound in and out through her pale fingers and her eyes darted from the door, to the figures milling about the bar at this late hour, and finally back to him. His face was impassive and she dropped her gaze back to the twisted napkin in her hands.

He said nothing for a long moment and she wrung the cloth harder. "I understand this is difficult for you. Indeed, I wouldn't dream of asking such a thing if it weren't of the highest importance." The man calmly folded his fingers together over the rough wood, the calm mirror of her frantic grasp. "Believe me, my dear," he said in a quieter tone and his blue eyes softened in sympathy, "I know how dangerous he is."

Cora worried her lip with her teeth. Her heart was racing. How could he be so infuriatingly calm? She shook her head in frustration. "He'll know it was me. He'll hurt people I love. Please, Professor Dumbledore, there must be someone else."

Dumbledore placed a hand over her frantically twisting and knotting fingers. "He's already hurt them. You can't protect anyone by being silent, can you?" He moved the tortured napkin aside and held her cold little hand in his. "Help us. Please."

"I still love him," she confessed in a whisper. "And Tom loves me, I'm sure of it."

The door opened and slammed closed with a crack. Cora jumped and froze, her eyes darting like a startled cat. Dumbledore smiled kindly and patted her hand reassuringly. "Love, my child, does _not_ have a heart of fear."

Cora felt a tightness in her chest so accute it took her breath away. Tom, her handsome, idealistic Tom. For years now she had reasoned his ideas and behaviors away. She knew what it was to have a hard childhood. She knew what it was to be different, too. But, somehow, she knew kindness as well. She had learned forgiveness. But Tom... his character had been set in stone for far too long now. All he knew was fear and pain.

A single tear glistened in her eye before sliding silently down her snowy cheek. "He's been looking for... artifacts," she whispered, feeling her heart break in her chest as she gave up her Tom to his enemies.

Dumbledore sat up straight, taut as a piano wire. "What artifacts?"

Salisbury, June 1944

The rationing was getting ridiculous. No sugar, no tea, no flour. What were they supposed to eat? Grass, maybe. Mud perhaps? Cora sighed and slumped down on the bench next to Darla and Daisy. It was runny gruel again today. Her heart sank.

"What I wouldn't give for a coffee," Daisy complained as she pushed the soupy mush back and forth in her bowl. "Or a decent ciggie!"

Cora took a bite. At least it was hot. "A chocolate bar," she added wistfully. The girls giggled and Fat Mag joined them, taking up nearly the entire bench opposite them.

"How does 'e expect me to be keepin' up me figure, now, with this slop morning, noon and night," she groused. The girls continued their game of what they missed most during this miserable morning and Fat Mag ventured a few suggestions of her own.

"But what I miss most," Mag continued loudly, "is a nice, strappin' lad ready for a go, 'oo's not missin' a leg or an arm...or other bits." She finished to a loud titter of laughter from the twins. Mag fished a handkerchief out of her enormous bossom and wiped her lips daintily. "All I'm sayin' is been slim pickin's lately."

"Cora," Daisy called over the laughter, "how's your fella? Any news for us hens to peck over?"

Cora blushed into her bowl. "I got another letter the night before last."

"Oooh!" Darla squeeled. "Spill, girl!"

Cora savored the attention for the moment as she decided how much to tell. She and Tom had been faithfully corresponding for nearly a year now. She had all but given up hope of anything further happening between them after her drunk father had ruined it. She was surprised to have a letter from him the very next day, and not just another reprisal of the fluffy nonsense he'd been sending her before. Frank stumbling upon them had actually had a positive effect on their relationship, she mused. That embarrassing encounter seemed to have given him courage. Tom now wrote of his days in a London orphanage, how he grew up friendless and alone. He wrote of all the wonderful things he'd come to learn of himself at school. And he wrote about his grand schemes for the future. Cora was drawn to his passion and intelligence, but mostly she saw a boy who desperately wanted to be loved.

"He's got exams coming, but he promised he would try to come when we go to Edinburg at the end of June," she said, feeling that pleasantly familiar fluttering in her chest. "He promised to teach me some new tricks!"

"Like turning this hog slop into a nice big steak," Mag offered. "That's a skill a girl could use around here!"

"Nice," Darla breathed airly, "for someone to have a little romance around this dump." She glared at her sister in the most curious manner and Daisy gave her an elbow to the ribs in thanks. Cora watched the exchange with vague suspicion. "Well, chickies," she said, shoving away from the table and pulling her sister up with her, "time to fly!" Side by side they strode out of the tent, Daisy whispering furiously to Darla, her face flushed scarlet. Darla merely rolled her eyes in return as they disappeared from view.

"Well," Mag said, pulling their unfinished bowls over, "waste not, want not!" She emptied the contents into her own.

"Mag," Cora began, unsure of what it was she was even wanting to know, "Daisy and Darla... what's going on then?"

Mag slurped up a bite thoughtfully. "Nothin' to worry about, Duckie. They just ain't seein' eye to eye these days. Got man trouble, that's what they got!"

"Man trouble?" Cora asked, perplexed. "What man?"

Mag chuckled. "Ain't all men trouble enough?" she snorted.

Cora's gaze wandered to the sunlight beyond the cool darkness of the tent. Joseph was putting the tack on the horses and Ruby followed along, checking his work. Cora stiffened as Ruby corrected the reigns, letting her hand linger over Joseph's much longer than was strictly necessary. Mag followed her gaze and chuckled again.

"That boy is gettin' way to popular for his own good." Mag shook her head and turned back to her breakfast.

Cora frowned. Daisy and Darla fighting. Ruby flirting. There was something going on, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She pushed away her bowl with a loud scrape. Mag raised an eyebrow. "What got your feathers all ruffled?"

"Nothing," Cora covered fast. "Just don't feel like eating much anymore." Hopping to her feet, she left the tent hastily. Mag shrugged and slid Cora's bowl over.

Ouside in the morning sunshine, Cora closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe deeply. What was it that bothered her so? Ruby's tinkling laugh followed her as she walked on and she did her best to ignore it. Still, it got under her skin and made her cheeks burn.

Cora stomped on until she came to the boxcar where she was certain her father was passed out drunk. Maybe today, she thought. Today might be different. It was worth a shot anyway. She shoved her irritation over Joseph and Ruby aside and steeled herself for another attempt.

She opened the door. "Frank. Are you awake?" Stepping up into the cave-like space, she squinted into the dimness.

Frank sat on his cot, head in his hands. He said nothing as his daughter slid the door closed behind her. Cora knelt in front of him. His eyes were an angry, bloodshot red, cushioned by puffy purple circles. Frank, once so fastidiously groomed, was now a mess. Days-old scruff clung to his sallow chin and his usually waxed and immaculate moustache was unkempt. His hair was lank and sticking to his forehead and neck in oily clumps.

"Frank," she said quietly, resting an unsure hand on his knee. He stiffened under her touch. "Time to get up." She stood and turned to the small packing crate where he kept a clean shirt and trousers. She stacked the clean clothes next to him on the bed. "You'll feel better once you're cleaned up a bit." She reached for the buttons of his soiled shirt. He snatched away from her, suddenly.

"I don't need you!" he bellowed suddenly, causing her to jump and upset the pile of fresh clothes. "I never needed you!"

Stiff shoulders, shaking hands, she could feel her temper rising. Indeed, the only thing her father had passed on to her was his dark hair and quick temper. She gritted her teeth, forcing calm over her entire body. "You don't mean that." She picked up the clean shirt and pushed it into his slack hand. It fell limply to the cot. "Come out and get some fresh air after you've changed. It'll do you some good."

He turned to stare at the lump of white cotton, the shirt he had dropped. Blankly, he stared at it for a long moment, as if seeing something else. "What do you care?" he said, still staring at the shirt.

"How can you say that?" she asked, wounded.

"You stole my act," he answered. "You idiot! Because of you, we make half what I used to earn! I'm a prisoner here now. Nowhere to go and nothing to do about it." He looked around frantically for something lost. "I need a drink," he muttered to himself.

Cora pressed her lips together tightly, biting back all the things that pushed to get out of her. He bent down on hands and knees and shoved an arm under the musty old cot. He emerged with a bottle grasped tightly in his white fingers. A meager amount of brown liquid sloshed in the bottom. He put it to his lips and drained what was left. The bottle dropped with a loud thunk on the bare board floor and he swayed as if on the deck of a ship in a pitching sea.

He looked at her with bleary, bloodshot eyes and put a hand on each of her shoulders to steady himself. "I need a drink," he repeated, his breath strong enough to make her eyes water.

"No," she hissed low, rage boiling just below the surface. "You need to get dressed."

Fast as a snake striking its prey, his hand flashed out and caught her across the mouth. He staggered with the force of it, his eyes shocked as he looked between his hand and the face of his daughter. A trickle of blood ran down her chin and she raked a hand roughly across it, wiping it away.

"I should have let Marco kill you." She gave him a hard shove and he wheeled back from her, sprawling on the cot. "But I stood up for you. Any shot I ever had of leaving this place I gave up to save you." She snatched the shirt up off the cot, wound it into a tight ball and threw it as hard as she could at his head. "To hell with you," she raged. "I'm done!"

The shirt smacked him in the face. He pulled it off with some difficulty and blinked stupidly after her as she stomped back out into the sunlight.

Cora was shaking as she wrenched the door back, throwing her shoulder into it as it creaked on rusted slides. She shoved it back into place wishing she had the strength to slam it shut. The sun was harsh after the darkness of the boxcar and she blinked owlishly as she jumped down from the step to the dusty ground. Her chest ached under the pressure of everything she wanted to say, all the things she'd held back. Her breath came in short, painful gasps.

Blinking from the sun and the sting of hot tears, she ran smack into something solid. Hands reached out to steady her. "Cora," a familiar voice said her name and she looked up at the figure. "Are you alright?"

Tom. Her raw heart gave a little leap. She made an unintelligible sound, halfway between a gasp and a startled scream. Like a dream, he was there right in front of her dazed eyes. She pulled him close and clung to him, assuring herself that he was real and not an illusion. His arms wrapped around her securely and she could hear his heart beating fast. He held her for a moment, allowing her to calm a bit before he pulled back, his cool dark eyes assessing.

"You're bleeding," he concluded. She put a hand to her lip, wishing he hadn't seen. Touching her tongue to it, she felt the tender spot where her tooth had torn the soft skin. She closed her eyes and forced the bleeding to slow and stop. Wiping a finger over it, she smiled shyly.

"I didn't expect to see you," she changed the topic.

His eyes still wandered over her face, inspecting. "A pleasant surprise, I hope."

She nodded enthusiastically. "Very," she answered with barely contained glee. "But school..."

He shrugged, his hands still resting on her arms. "I needed a break." With one long finger he lifted her chin, looking skeptically at her already healing cut. "Looks like you could use one as well." With a devilish dance in his charcoal eyes he glanced around at the circus preparing for another day, another show. "Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, bringing her closer to him.

"Yes, please," she breathed, wondering how he knew just exactly what to say to make her knees feel so weak. He pulled her in tighter, pressing up against her. A pop, like the sound of a soap bubble bursting, gave her a start. And just like that the bustle of the circus waking to another day was gone. In its place was an idyllic countryside, far out on the outskirts of Salisbury.

It was a breathless moment before she could speak. "How did you do that?" she asked excitedly.

He grinned wickedly at her. "I told you I had something to show you."

She clapped her hands like an exuberant child. "I have been trying to do that for_ years_. You make it look so easy!"

"It is," he stated to her consternation, "once you get the hang of it." He stepped apart from her and she felt the space grow cool between them. "Tell me," he continued, "how you have been going about it."

"Well," she said, watching him take step after casual step away from her, "I picture myself, where I stand. Then I picture that same space, but empty."

He frowned and shook his head. "That's the problem," he surmised. "You can't just think about disappearing. You need to concentrate just as hard on where you want to go. For instance," he instructed, holding out his arms wide and turning in a circle, "I am standing in an open field. But I want to go there," he concluded and gestured far off to an old oak, its branches scooping out low toward the ground. And with a crooked smile, he winked at her and was gone.

Cora gasped.

"Cora!" she heard her name on the breeze. Smiling, she ran as fast as her old brown boots would let her. As she came to the sprawling oak, she looked up in the branches. Near the top, Tom stood, laughing and smiling down at her.

"Show off!" she called to him. He popped out of existence once more. The next instant he was standing by her side. She could feel his warmth on her arm.

"You try it." He slid a handful of waxy teardrop leaves off of a slim little twig. "But," he cautioned seriously, "concentrate. Wouldn't want to get ourselves splinched, now would we?" He laughed and she shook her head seriously. Whatever it was she definitely didn't fancy getting splinched.

"Okay, well," she asked, looking around the cool green shade of the ancient tree. "Where should I go?"

He grinned and took off running. She frowned, the urge to run after him making her feet twitch. She took a step toward him.

"No!" he called, "With magic!"

She wanted to be near him badly. But she was afraid. She took another step.

"Cora, come on!" he teased, waving at her from an acre's distance. When she hesitated, he grinned wickedly and jogged on ahead over the rise. Panic fluttered in her chest. She couldn't see him anymore.

"Tom!" she cried out. "Don't leave me here!"

"Then come on!" She heard his voice growing fainter.

She squeezed her eyes shut. _I want to be where Tom is. I want to be where Tom is. _She repeated it over and over in her head, picturing the grassy hill where he stood. She felt a tug at her center, like a fish hook pulling at her belly. A queasy disequilibrium grabbed her and she felt suddenly like she might be sick. She opened her eyes, gasping.

"You did it!" Tom shouted and lifted her off of her feet, spinning her around and around. She shoved away from him, frantic. His face darkened. Hands on her knees, she sucked in great gulps of air. She desperately did not want to be sick in front of Tom. "Hey," he said cautiously, "are you okay?"

"I'm," she gasped, "fine. I might throw up, though."

His face broke into a wide grin and he laughed. "Oh," he chuckled, relieved. "That. I forgot. It always feels like that the first time!"

She looked up at him in disbelief. "Forgot? How can you forget that?"

He put a gentle, steadying hand on her shoulder. "It gets better. Come on," he encouraged. "Practice makes perfect." He ran off a few paces and turned back to see if she would follow. She shoved up off of her knees, forcing herself to stand. He was too far away from her again. She took a step to chase him. "Uh uh!" he called back to her. "Magic!"

"You sound like my father," she grumbled behind her smile. Focusing on Tom, she popped over to the patch of clover he stood in. Just as she reached out for him he disappeared. Frowning in frustration, she spun fully around, searching.

He was very far off now, on the next hill, laughing. She chased asfter him again. When next he disappeared, she searched and searched, straining to see him on every horizon. "Tom!" she called out once more. Only an empty wind softly rustling the tree called back. "Tom!" she screamed louder. "I don't know where you are!" After minutes of silence, she felt the familiar fingers of fear tickle at her heart. "Don't leave me!" she cried pathetically.

"Never," he whispered in her ear. She spun around frantically. There he was, his smile warm, his reassuring solidness. She burried her face in his chest, breathing him in. He smelled like paper and ink and cotton. He ran his long fingers through her hair, caressing the silky midnight waves. "I'll never leave you."

They spent the rest of the golden day lying in the dancng grass on the top of the hill, watching fat, wooly clouds shuffle across the sky. Side by side, arms so close she could feel the warmth from him, they talked about so many things. Every now and then she felt Tom reach a cool finger to her hand, tracing against the smooth skin over her wrist.

"When you're finished with school," she asked as he brushed his finger across hers, "where will you go?" Her eyes followed a giant, squashy bear-shaped cloud as she waited for his reply.

He stared off into the blue of the sky, not really seeing anything, just thinking. This was a question he had so carefully planned and schemed over the past few months. He hadn't quite figured it all out yet, but he definitely felt less shaky about the future than he had in a long while. "I want to stay on, if they let me," he answered finally. "Teach magic." There was too much left uncovered at Hogwarts, Tom felt sure of it, as well. More for him to discover, more to know. The year left to him there felt too short by far. "What about you?"

She looked sideways at him through the dandelions and field grass. "Huh?" was her quite witty reply.

"You," he said again, a touch of exasperation in his smooth tone. "Are you going to stay with the circus forever?"

She frowned. The deal she'd made with the Baron echoed in her ears, twising a knot in her stomach. What she wanted, what she dreamed for her future was inconsequential when faced with the facts of reality. "I dunno, I guess I never thought about it," she lied.

Tom glanced sideways at her. He asked another question. "If you could do anything you wanted, with no one to stop you, what would it be?"

A smile crept over her lips. "I want to go places and see things."

It was an answer without hesitation, as Tom had predicted, her first lie not having convinced him. But the answer was not what he had expected. "Where would you go?" he asked out of curiosity. What else did this girl do but travel?

Cora thought for a moment. "Paris," she answered in an excited rush, "The Rocky Mountains and the Pacific Coast. I want to go to New York City and Rio de Janeiro. I want to see the Great Wall of China. The Himalayas. It snows there all year long, you know. Joseph told me." She stopped, breathless, surprised where her imaginary trip had taken her.

Tom's finger froze on her skin, his far-off gaze hardening. "Who's Joseph?" he asked evenly. "A friend of yours?"

She wished she had not run on so. "Yes," she answered lightly. "You met him once, actually."

Tom frowned in thought. "The Chinese fellow." He meant to say it with nonchallance, but his syllables, coming out short and clipped, he feared may have given him away. He saw the boy's face in his mind's eye. The boy had not inspired much feeling in Tom before, just a mild annoyance. However, new sentiments accompanied the picture. Rival, threat, he noted. Something to be taken care of eventually.

Cora wished she hadn't said anything. Tom had gone quiet and thoughtful. "Tibetan, actually," she corrected, trying for a more jovial air. "But let's not talk about him. I want to hear about you." She watched the darkness fade and the easy candor return to his features. "Same question," she offered. "What do you want most?"

His lopsided smile returned. "Easy," he said right away. "I want power and influence. I want to make the rules." Dark eyes sparkling like deep pools in shadow, he put his hands behind his head and stretched his long legs out on the warm grass. "When I was little, it seemed everyone wanted to tell me what I could and couldn't do. Even now," he continued, a bitter edge sneaking into his voice, coloring the conviction with which he spoke. "At school there are still so many rules. Of course," he smirked as he caught her watching him, "I don't get caned anymore for breaking them. And I've become very good at not getting caught."

Cora propped herself up on an elbow so she could look at him fully. He was beautiful, she thought as she watched his long limbs bend the grass. He smirked knowingly at her and closed his eyes, chuckling as she looked away and blushed. Sometimes she thought he could read her mind, like she was as transparent as glass. And she knew she'd been caught staring. He stretched out further, a satisfied smile upon his face.

"One day," he mused, distractedly. "I'll call all the shots."

"You'd be a brilliant leader," Cora agreed, swept up by his fervor. "People will fall in line to follow you, Tom."

He smiled up at her and closed his eyes once more, basking in the warmth of the sun and her adoring looks. For some reason, it felt wonderful to have her believe in him. He was tempted to go on and tell her all of his revolutionary plans to better the world, but his cautious nature kept him silent. Soon, he figured, she would know. She was important to his fledgling plans. Not just important to his plans, he realized. She was becoming important to him. Very important indeed.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Tom and the world of Harry Potter are the property of J. K. Rowling. Cora, Joseph and the folks of the Majestic Circus belong to me. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended in its creation.

A/N: Playing hookey from work tomorrow! Hows about an update to celebrate! Thanks to all of my readers out there in the ether, I hope you are enjoying! Special thanks to **Sachita**, your reviews always bring a smile to my face. I'm glad you liked Cora's desire to travel the world-I had you in mind, actually! **Blah, Blah, Blah**, (Sorry about the extra Blah last chapter!) I am thrilled that you are liking it that much! My characters have become special to me and it's nice to get praise for them. Now, on with the show!

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Thirteen

Hard Candy

Swindon, November 1944

The roar of the crowd sounded in her ears, pleasantly muted by the distance to the gentle shushing roll of surf on the sand. The whistles were gulls playing on the warm ocean breezes. She closed her eyes and pictured herself on a tropical island somewhere in a nameless sea, almost tasting the salt of the air and sun on her face. When she opened her eyes she was back in the train yard, standing next to the faded and weathered boxcars of the circus train, the big top reaching up to the sky before her. The chill November wind wound fingers through her carefully rolled and curled hair and she gave a shiver. She would pick a cozier place to Disapperate to next time.

Walking back to the giant tent, she could hear the Baron striving to get the audience quiet enough to introduce the next act. But they continued to cheer wildly. All for her. She smiled, quite proud of herself. After Tom had shown her how to do it, her disappearing act became the main event of the Majestic, and she was the undisputed star attraction.

Slipping unseen into the folds of canvas, she waited off to the side hidden in shadows to watch the rest of the show. Daisy and Darla were climbing the wobbly rope ladder that snaked high into the air above the audience. The girls resembled two glitzy and glamourous spiders ascending their silken threads. Already on his perch, Joseph waved to the crowd. He had assumed a regular role in the girls' act as catcher. With his added strength Daisy and Darla dreamed up even more daring and, in Cora's estimation, dangerous stunts.

Daisy took to the swing first, working it higher and higher. Joseph called "Hup," and Daisy let go, turning summersaults in the air before catching his wrists easily. The crowd gasped then cheered. Darla topped her sister with a more complicated twist and flip. Cora's stomach mimicked the motion. The girls continued to do each other one better, each trick becoming more fearsome and impossible. The audience was hypnotized by the wingless blonde angels.

Darla and Daisy balanced once again onto the tiny platform, each grasping the swing and jumping into the air in tandem. Together they coaxed the swing into ever-widening arcs. Daisy let go of the trapeze first. Joseph reached out and grabbed her ankles, swinging her back toward her sister. Darla released her hold and flipped once, her arms extended above her head toward Daisy. Cora held her breath. Darla grasped at her sister's fingers but missed. She fell and the audience gasped as one. Darla bounced once on the safety net and struck a playful pose for the crowd, letting them know that she was unharmed. Darla smiled and waved to the crowd, but as she looked up to Joseph and Daisy hanging above her she sent a look of harsh rebuke. Daisy stared back blankly. Joseph swung Daisy back onto her swing and they finished the performance without further incident. Cora knew, however, that one mistake was enough. The Baron's expression was thunderous.

After the night's crowd had gone, Cora returned to the boxcar she shared with Mag and the twins, hoping to find the girls changing out of their costumes. When she entered, chased by the cold wind, she found only Mag sitting in front of the chipped mirror, dusting powder over her soft round face.

"Daisy and Darla back yet?" she asked Mag, stripping off her own sequinned and bejeweled black frock.

Mag patted on a cloud of dusty white powder. "Haven't seen 'em." She patted the puff over her wide expanse of cleavage. Before rising, she fluffed her curly red hair into a halo around her head and inspected the result. "An' I won't be seein' em til mornin'. Ol Mag's got a hot date tonight, Duckie!" As the robust woman slid through the door into the cold, she laid a reassuring hand on Cora's shoulder. "No need to be worrying about those two. They always come out on top, they do." She smiled warmly at the girl and disappeared into the night.

Cora took Mag's place at the mirror and slid her warmest sweater over her head and wiped off the rouge and lipstick. In an instant she was no longer belle of the ball. She was just Cora. She pulled on her worn overalls and shoved her stockinged feet into her old boots. Stepping out into the chill night wind again, she headed off in search of her friends, a dull throb of worry making her head ache with each step.

As Cora rounded the corner, she heard the low murmur of voices speaking softly but insistently. She froze. She knew those voices well. Daisy and Joseph were talking, huddled in the shadows of the rail cars. Cora saw Daisy wiping repeatedly at her eyes. Joseph reached in his pocket, retrieving a handkerchief and handing it chivalrously to the girl. She tried to smile in thanks as she took it only to bury her whole face in it, sobbing harder. Joseph said something too low for Cora to hear and pulled Daisy into his chest, resting his cheek against her blonde curls. They remained huddled together, holding on to each other and Cora felt a burning blush enter her cold cheeks. She quietly retreated, ashamed to have spied on her friends in such an obviously private moment.

In the mess tent a lively ruckus had already begun. Cora shoved aside the canvas flap and ducked inside the warmth of the shelter. Men leaned on the scarred wooden plank table, calling bets and raising stakes with borrowed money. A hot bubble of anger rose in her chest as she noted Frank among them, shouting and cursing as he lost more of her wages. Leave it, she ordered herself. She didn't want to fight with him tonight. Instead she made her way through the tangle of bodies dancing to the off key scratching of a violin, aiming for the corner and an out of the way bench. Her mind was a crazy jumble, her stomach tight with a sick combination of emotions-worry for Daisy and Darla, anger at her father and something sharp that she couldn't quite name when she thought of Joseph. The bench was still several paces ahead and her head was swimming in the swirl of color and activity.

"Dance with me, Darling!" a shrill voice called right next to her ear and she was instantly seized, shoved into the frenzy of dancing. Darla scooped her up and twirled her along with her as she spun to the frantic scraping of the violinist's bow. At arms' length Darla wheeled her around and around, laughing hysterically. Cora felt as if she would be sick if she didn't sit right away. When she stopped, Darla frowned pathetically.

"You're no fun tonight," Darla pouted. Cora could smell the gin on her breath. Darla was drunk.

Cora studied the girl. Darla was still in her flying costume, blue sparkles winking in the soft lantern light, feathers sticking out from her golden halo of curls. Her eye khol was smudged under her eyes as if she, too, had been crying. "Are you alright?" Cora asked as she led Darla to the bench.

Darla shrugged Cora off as soon as she realized where she was being shepherded. "I'm fine!" she crowed brightly. "So fine I feel like dancing!" She tried to pull Cora to her feet again. Cora shook her head and Darla pouted again.

"Darla, what's gotten into you?" Cora asked with more volumn than she would have liked but the noise inside the tent was preventing discretion.

Darla shook her head dismissively. "Nothing, darling!" She stepped and twirled in place with her hands in the air like a ballerina in a music box. "Nothing at all!" Cora opened her mouth to say something more but Darla spun into the wheeling crowd, grabbing blindly for a dance partner. Her smile faltered and faded altogether when she pulled Joseph into her arms. She stopped dancing and let her hands fall limply to her sides, her bright red lips turning down into a disappointed frown. Joseph put a hand solidly on her shoulder to steady her as she weaved against him but she brushed it off abruptly and stalked off into the crowd. Cora watched the exchange with a growing tension. She wished Tom were here.

A newspaper lay in a sad lump on the bench, discarded maybe a day or two ago. Cora snatched it up and hid her face behind it, hoping she had not been spotted staring. The bench creaked as someone sat next to her. A sigh, barely audible above the rowdy crowd, let her know that she had indeed been spotted.

"What are you reading?" Joseph asked, not really interested in the answer. Cora stole a quick glance at him. His eyes followed Darla, his expression weary but devoid of any other emotion.

Cora lowered the paper to her lap, abandoning the ruse. "I don't know," she confessed. Turning to look fully on him, she felt a wave of shame for having been selfish. He had been a good friend to her and she should return the favor. "What's going on?" she asked, putting a small, cold hand on his arm. She steeled herself to listen to whatever he needed to tell her, whether she wanted to hear it or not.

The hand resting on his arm pulled his gaze away from Darla. He stared at her white fingers for a long moment before answering. "I don't know if it is my place to tell you." It wasn't said meanly and he looked truly sorry for not confiding in her. "But ask Daisy or Darla," he urged her. "They could both use a friend now. A friend who's a girl," he added with a lopsided grin, pushing a few long black locks out of his eyes. "I've been a pretty poor stand in for one."

Cora straightened, concerned. "I don't follow," she said. "Joseph, what am I supposed to do?" Her voice pitched higher in alarm.

He stretched his long legs out in front of him and closed his eyes. Faint blue circles shadowed his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days. "S'okay," he sighed. "You don't have to do anything. Just be there and listen. That's what a friend does, you know." He cracked on eye open and glanced sideways at her. He smiled, softening the rebuke.

Cora felt stung a little, but could not deny that he was right. She had been so wrapped up in her Tom that she had spared little time for anyone else. She knew something had been brewing between the sisters. Her suspicion was that it had something to do with the boy sitting next to her. Was she consumed with Tom, or was she afraid of having her suspicion confirmed? Joseph was her closest friend and she should be happy for him if he loved Daisy. Still she couldn't help but feel a crazy jealousy at the thought of them together. Selfish, she chided herself. She had Tom. Wasn't that enough?

Cora shoved the paper aside and stood. Joseph opened both eyes and frowned. "Where are you going?" he asked in confusion.

"To talk to the girls. You're right," she answered dully. "I have been a terrible friend."

Joseph reached out and took her cold hand in his warm and roughly calloused one. "Leave it for the night," he said with a small laugh. "Daisy went to bed. And Darla," he added, glancing at the girl jumping and bouncing to a lively jig, looking for anything like a sparkling and derranged finch, "I don't think she's in the mood to talk just now." Darla grabbed Peter and draped her long limbs over his shoulders. "Tomorrow," he concluded.

Cora sat back down on the bench next to him, scooping up the paper once more if only for something to do with her hands. As she worried the corner with her fingers, she stared at the picture on the front page. It was a man wearing black and white stripes, his fingers looped through a chain link fence. The eyes stared ahead, dead and dull in a skeletal face. She frowned, sounding out the headline in her head. The words, however, made no sense to her whatsoever.

"Joe," she said with a nudge to his side.

"Hmm," he answered opening his eyes once again and focusing on the paper in her hands.

"What's that say?" she asked, pushing the paper into his hands. Cora stared at him, confusion pulling her smooth, pale forehead into rows of lines and furrows. Joseph's expression changed instantly from tired curiosity to anger and sadness. He rubbed his face roughly with his hands and pushed up to his feet, pulling her along with him.

"You don't want to know," he answered shortly. "There's something I wanted to do tonight. Fancy getting out of here for an hour or two?" The sadness and fury still shone in his eyes like lightning behind the clouds of a dying summer storm. He stared at her, hope chasing a little of the gloom away.

She couldn't say no to him. Her hand, tucked warmly in his, tightened a little, letting him know her answer. A tired smile pulled the corners of his mouth up and he tugged her toward the tent flap and the cold November winds beyond. The paper was once again lying in a forgotten heap on the bench, the dead eyes of the picture staring at nothing and no one. **"Discovery Of Brutal Death Camps" **was printed in black block lettering above the nameless inmate.

Swindon, November 1944

Tom watched as the couple walked down the road, her hand in his. Rage bubbled up inside him as he watched another man touch what belonged to him. Cora was smiling excitedly up at the boy, her lovely and kind eyes fixed on him. It was the way she had looked at him so many times. The boy didn't deserve those looks, the filthy Muggle.

Pulling his flat cap down low over his eyes, he shrugged his worn wool coat up to his ears, hiding in the upturned collar. Sticking to the shadows, he set off after the couple, careful to keep a good distance between them. He did not want them to know they were being followed. Not yet.

Joseph, leaving her for a brief moment to retrieve something from his boxcar, returned with a sack of rough cloth slung over his shoulder and a brightly colored scarf, which he wound around her neck and ears. He took her hand in his and led her out into the road, deserted by this time of night. Cora lifted her free hand to touch the delicate weaving of the scarf, feeling the silky material. It smelled of exotic spices and faraway places.

"This is beautiful," she said, her words muffled by the scarf.

Joseph smiled. "My mother made it. She would be very disappointed if I let you catch a cold."

"Tell me about her," Cora asked, hoping she wasn't being rude by asking. "Was she very beautiful?"

Joseph nodded. "I don't remember her very well, though. Mr. Mason told me a little about her and my father. They were good people. Kind and generous with what little they had."

"You must miss them terribly," she said, sadness creeping into her voice. Her thoughts turned to her own mother, beautiful and distant. Too weak for life's many disappointments.

"I do. Mr. Mason met my father when he was studying to become a monk. Mr. Mason used to talk about the arguments they had like they were the best moments of his life. They both loved to debate. It's no wonder they got on so well as they did. He was my father's closest friend."

"A monk?" Cora asked, confused. "How did he come to have a wife and child then? Did he stop being a monk after Mr. Mason converted him? Did he get sacked?"

Joseph laughed. "No, he didn't get sacked and Mr. Mason never succeeded in converting him. He died a Buddhist. He left the monastery because he fell in love."

Cora sighed. "How romantic!"

"I guess it was," Joseph agreed reluctantly, "but he lost everything because of it. And my mother was shunned by her family. They left Tibet in disgrace."

"But they had each other. That makes up for it, don't you think?" Cora glanced up at her friend. He seemed far away, his thoughts in another time and place. She wondered if he favored his father or mother more. Or was he the best of both? "They had you. It must have been worth it."

Joseph gave her hand a squeeze. "I hope they would be proud of me, anyway. And," he added, nudging Cora with an elbow, "they would've loved you!"

"Really?" she asked, beaming. "You think so?"

His smile was bright. "I know so." He looked at her with such a curious expression, so kind yet full of longing. It made her chest feel tight, like there wasn't enough room to breathe. "We're here," he said finally, coming to a stop.

Cora blinked and forced herself to look away from his open, handsome face. She focused on the scenery around them and was surprised to find herself in the middle of some kind of shanty town. Instinctually, she pulled in closer to him, gripping his arm with both hands. "Where, exactly?" she questioned nervously.

He laughed quietly and heaved the sack off of his shoulder and onto the ground, bending to pull out a few lumpy shapes. Cora felt naked and exposed without him close by her side. She shifted from foot to foot and glanced around anxiously.

He did not answer her but remained hunched over the sack, rumaging through it busily. She swallowed a lump in her throat, turning on the spot to look behind her. There was movement, she was sure of it.

"Uh, Joseph?" she squeaked as a figure stepped out of the blackness between a sagging lean-to made from scraps of metal and an abandoned flatbed truck, resting on its axles. She moved closer to Joseph, panic growing in her. He looked up in the direction of the shadow but only smiled, pushing something crinkly and hard into her hands.

"Take this," he instructed, turning back to the sack. Cora looked down and realized she was holding a crumpled paper bag full of striped candy, cheerful colors bright even in the gloom of night.

She looked in askance at the sweets in her numb fingers. "What am I supposed to do with it?" she croaked in fright.

"Give it to them," he stated, a little exasperation sharpening his usually gentle voice. He threw a gesture over his shoulder at the shadowy figures approaching Cora warily.

Cora turned back to the ominous shadow people and was utterly shocked to see three wide-eyed and dirty children staring back at her with the very expression she wore. The smallest one clung to a tall girl in a tattered coat and shoes with holes in the toes. Cora took a hesitant step toward the shivering group of children and held out the bag. They didn't move.

"You don't want it?" She was mystified as they shied away from her. Cora turned questioningly back to Joseph, but he was no longer beside her. He was some paces off handing shiny cans to a woman stooped under a filthy shawl. He shrugged out of his brown woolen coat and wrapped it around the woman's shoulders. A few ragged boys, in their teens from the looks of it, rushed forward and took the unguarded sack into one of the hovels of discarded boxes and pallets. "Joseph!" Cora cried out as the boys disappeared with the rest of the goods.

Joseph's head snapped up at Cora's distress, but his look of worry was soon replaced by a smile and a shake of his head. "It's okay, Cora!" he called back to her reassuringly before he turned his attention once more to the woman, who was saying something too low for Cora to hear. She patted Joseph's arm over and over with a gnarled hand, curled from arthritis and hard living. With a frown, Cora turned back to the kids.

The middle child, a boy of about seven or eight, maybe even older, had come within two steps of her. He froze when she turned, an expression of horror on his grimy face. Cora stared at him for a minute, unsure of whether to run away or come closer. Swallowing, her mouth dry from fright, she plucked up her courage and knelt down, coming eye to eye with the little boy. Setting the bag of candy half way between the boy and herself, she drew back and waited, carefully still. The boy watched her with sharp, calculating eyes. Suddenly, he darted quickly out and snatched a peice of candy from the bag and shoved it into his mouth before running to hide behind the oldest girl. He peered from her skirts, his cheecks full of the filched candy. His eyes were still wary, but there was triumph in them as well.

Cora pushed the bag forward and drew back, smiling kindly at the tiny one. When the child burried its face in the oldest girl's leg, Cora looked to her for help. "Please," she implored gently, "they're for you."

The girl tugged the baby along with her as she took a few steps forward. Cora watched her, noting that she was only a few years younger than herself. Brown hair was carefully braided and tucked under a dingy scarf. Her cheeks were pink and she had beautiful blue eyes. She dipped her hand into the bag and pulled out one sweet, a pink and yellow swirled thing and popped it into the baby's waiting mouth. Cora felt a sting in her eyes. The little one had a head of blond curls. The tiny rosebud lips, now slick with sugary drool, were covered in scabs and a few fresh sores. Toddling forward, the little fists shoved deep into the bag, coming out with handfulls of the candies. The baby gurgled, delighted by her discovery.

"Alright, love," the girl said gently as she scraped the candies off of the toddler's fingers, careful to replace them in the bag. "Thank you, miss," she said shyly as she handed the bag back to Cora.

"No," she shook her head, "keep them."

The girl looked at Cora, calculating. "For you, miss." She put her hand into her pocket and pulled out something. Blushing deeply, she held out her gloved fist toward Cora.

Cora hesitated and the girl shoved the item into her hand. In her palm was a beautiful comb with a flower adorning the rusted tines. A few of the rhinestone gems were missing. Cora gasped, understanding that this was precious to the girl. She was speechless. The girl pulled the toddler along, retreating to the rusted lean-to with the candy in one hand and a little fist in the other. The baby strained to turn its chubby face to get one more glimpse of the girl with the candy.

"Wait!" Cora cried after them. "I can't accept this," she stammered as she handed the comb back.

The girl blushed deeper and looked away, embarrassed. Cora shoved the comb at the girl, frustrated that she didn't take it.

"Cora," Joseph said, coming up behind her, "these are the Dooleys. You," he continued, smiling at the girl, "must be Kate." He held out a hand and the girl took it with a shy smile. "I'm Joseph."

"Pleased to meet you," Kate replied. "That's Jimmy." The girl nodded to the boy who had snatched the candy and run. He had a red confection half way to his mouth, frozen, as his sister drew notice to him. He hid in her skirts again, but giggled mischeiviously behind her. "And this wee one is Abby." The toddler raked a hand across her lips, smearing pink drool over her cheeks.

"Pwetty," Abby said wetly, pointing a chubby finger at Cora. The baby girl waddled to Cora's leg and hugged her, leaving a string of pink goo on her trouser leg. "I love you," she cooed. "I love candy!"

"Alright, darling," Kate shushed her and pulled her away from Cora, casting a horrified look at the stain Abby left behind.

Cora looked from Kate's shy smile to the baby's adoring face, back to the comb in her hand. She pulled back a lock of her shiny black waves and pinned it in place with the comb. "It's beautiful. Thank you so very much, Kate." Cora was relieved at the bright smile that spread across the girl's lovely face.

"It suits you, miss," she said, pleased.

"Cora," she corrected. "I'm Cora."

Abby slipped her fist out of Kate's and toddled back over to Cora's side. "Up," she demaded, raising her fists in the air at Cora. Cora looked at Kate, unsure. Kate just smiled. Cora lifted the child up, surprised by how light she was, and rested her on a hip. The child immediately burried her sticky fingers in Cora's hair. Joseph laughed at Cora's repulsed look and put an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close to his side. Cora watched the little girl play happily in her hair and her lips couldn't help but turn up into a smile.

Kate giggled. "Well, Cora, it looks as if you have an admirer," Kate said, amused as she looked from the baby to Joseph. "You two make a hansdome couple."

From the darkest of shadows Tom watched, his anger twisting and knotting in his stomach. She seemed happy even as she was pawed by the dirty little child. A part of his mind said to have pity on them, that he, too, had once been the lowly and downtrodden. He shoved it away violently. They were Muggles. This was where they belonged, he snorted in disgust. They were probably too lazy or stupid, or both, to better their station. Not he. He may have been born into the gutter, but he knew that he was destined for better things. Great things.

So was she. And that boy was filling her head with this do-good, charity nonsense. These filthy brats didn't deserve her smiles. Neither did that slanty-eyed foreign boy. This was a problem he needed to find a solution to. Quickly, before this all got out of hand.

The night was bitter as they walked back to the circus. Cora shivered and Joseph wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his warm chest. She burried her nose into the rich silk of the scarf as the wind picked up, feeling a little guilty. He must be freezing. His coat remained with Ms. Dooley. Cora was sure Joseph would have left without the shirt on his back if she hadn't been there. Her heart ached for the little family. At least they would go to bed with a full belly that night.

She was surprised that this had become Joseph's routine. At every stop, Joseph spent his meager wages on cans of food for the beggars that inevitably turned up as the tents rose over their shanties. She, on the other hand, had barely spared them a second glance, regarding them as so much scenery. A fierce pride filled her as she considered her friend and his big, generous heart.

"Thank you," she said, snuggling into his side.

He smirked. "For what?" he asked in amused confusion.

"For reminding me," she clarified, "how small my problems are."

He hugged her closer. "You're a good person, Cora. Don't forget to do good, that was what Mr. Mason told me every night before I went to sleep._ Don't forget to do good, Joseph_." Joseph was quiet, thoughtful. "I think most people are good and they just forget. It's easier to look in the other direction, to not see need or injustice."

Cora thought of the man with his dead eyes staring back at her from the paper and Joseph's fury. "Like the picture in the newspaper?" she asked quietly feeling Joseph's easy touch stiffen.

"Yes, exactly," he whispered, his head hanging lower. He was frowning deeply. "Where I come from, we shun people who are different from us. Only recently outsiders were allowed in Lhasa, our holy city. Children are raised to fear the outside world, to fear those who are not like us." He stopped and turned to look at her, suddenly very intense. "Fear is dangerous, though. It's destructive."

Cora swallowed. "Why was that man in prison?" she asked. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," he returned, shaking his head slowly. "He didn't do anything. He was going to be killed for _who_ he is. Not something he did."

"If he was in prison, he must be a threat, though," Cora retorted. "Governments wouldn't kill someone without reason."

"That's just it, though. The reason was that he was not like them. And the government thinks that's dangerous. Am I dangerous because my skin is a different color than yours?"

"No," she answered, "but..."

"Are you dangerous because you have black hair? Or because you can do special things?"

Her heart thudden in her chest. Was she dangerous? She didn't think so. "No," she answered in a small voice.

"People are just people, Cora," Joseph said, pulling her close to him again and shivering in the cold wind. "Don't forget to do good."

Cora nodded, "I promise."

"Cora!"

She jumped a little at the unexpected sound of her name and her heart fluttered at the voice. It was Tom! Her Tom! Her frown instantly changed into a radiant smile as he stepped from the shadows, devilishly handsome in dark trousers and coat. His pale and beautiful face, beaming at the sight of her. She shrugged out from under Joseph's arm and ran to him. Reaching out to her, he pulled her into his chest tightly. His eyes flashed dangerously at Joseph.

"I've been looking all over for you," he said into her hair. Blech! He'd forgotten the sticky-fingered child. Black strands clung to his face, sickeningly sweet against his lips. He pulled away, brushing them off.

"Well," she chirpped brightly. "Here I am!"

Tom tugged Cora along under one arm. "I'll take her from here, mate!" he called over his shoulder to Joseph, relishing the look of defeat on the other boy's face.

"Oh," Cora said suddenly, ducking out from under Tom's arm. His face fell in confusion as he watched her jog back to him. She unwound a gaudy scarf from her neck and pushed it into his hand. "Thanks again, Joseph!" She ran back and lifted Tom's arm, replacing it happily across her shoulders. A satisfied grin spread across Tom's face from ear to ear. Without looking back, he threw a parting wave over his shoulder and walked away with Cora pressed tightly to his side.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Tom and all things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. Cora, Joseph and the folks of the Majestic belong to me. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended in its creation.

**Thanks: Sachita** as always. I am so pleased you enjoyed the last chapter! Poor Daisy and Darla, indeed. And I am not through with torturing them just yet. **Luxord's Xigbar **your comment about the non-linear timeline is noted. I know that it can be tricky, but the worst is over! Events are all coming to a head and things will progress pretty much in order now. Thanks for reading anyway!** Qu0thTheRavenNeverm0re **(blush) thank you for your words of praise. I am so glad you are enjoying yourself and that you connect with my characters. And for Tom, he's coming up in a big way for the rest of the story. **Blah, Blah, Blah **eep! Your reviews make me smile! Thank you for reading. I appreciate you, one and all!

A/N: I struggled with writer's block for this chapter and actually started (and erased) it three times. Still, I'm not certain I'm pleased with it, but here it is anyway. I'll let you decide whether it worked or not. Just drop me a line and let me know how you felt about it. This chapter is a turning point and I hope it reads that way.

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Fourteen

Blood and Ice

Shropshire, December 1944

It had been a long, hard winter for the circus. The harsh winds, rain and ice, coupled with the food shortages, had taken its toll. Rex the lion was gone, leaving Goliath to starve alone in his cage. Star, one half of the matched pair of white stallions, died on a freezing night of snow and sleet. And Tim, the circus' last clown, had been cut. Cora and the rest of the folks had only discovered his absence when they stopped at the next town. Mutt, his loyal dog, was nowhere to be found.

The winter had taken its toll on their spirits as well. A bleek mood had settled over the cheerfully striped camp, giving a stale falseness to the whole manic pageant. Most turned to drinking. Joseph to his good works. And Cora, she turned to Tom.

She sat shivering in her little corner of the shared boxcar, alone even though it was the middle of the night. The dim light from her gas lantern spluttered, throwing dancing shadows on the wall. The wick's guttering sound was the only noise inside. Outside, the wind howled ferociously like a fearsome beast trying to get in. Cora snuggled further under her thin blanket, her fingers numbly gripping the stub of a pencil.

_I am tired,_ she wrote with frozen fingers. _I know now that I will never be able to save everyone. People die and I can't stop that._

She scribbled fast, letting the pencil move over the paper, side to side, side to side, and back again. It was somehow soothing to her, knowing that Tom would read them. If anyone could understand how she felt it would be her Tom.

_I miss you, _she finished. _I wish you were here with me. I have no one to talk to. Frank is meaner than ever. Daisy and Darla have shut me out. Even Joseph is too busy for me. _

She sighed, feeling the stinging truth in her words. Pathetic, actually. Blowing a black curl out of her eyes, she put the pencil to the bottom of the paper.

_Promise me you will come visit soon. _

_All my love._

_Your Cora_

She folded the letter carefully and rolled out of her cozy nest in the middle of her cot, anticipating the cold rush of wind she would suffer when she opened the door in search of an owl messenger. Putting her hand to the door latch, she could feel the icy gale through the crack in the rough board walls.

She froze. Voices outside, raised in an argument, joined the wind in a mad rush of sound. Cora peeped through the crack between two boards, straining to see into the black night. A tall figure was looming, dark and menacing over a smaller shadow. The taller of the two waved a fist as the smaller one cowered against a nearby rail car. Both figures were covered from head to toe against the bitter cold.

"But we have no more!" the tiny shadow squeaked in supreme fear. "I gave you all of it!"

Cora sucked in an icy breath. She recognized the voice immediately. It was Daisy's plantive cry, Cora was sure of it.

The large figure shoved her roughly up against the wall and Cora jumped at the impact. Her hand tightened on the latch.

"You're lying!" The other figure bellowed in Daisy's face. It was Marco. Cora sucked in a fearful breath. "Don't think you can hold out on me, whore! Five pounds or I'll be lettin' the boss know about it. He'll be cuttin' you out for sure, then! And don't think you can come runnin' back to me for protection, either."

Daisy gave a shrill sob. "But I haven't got five pence!"

"Ain't my problem," he answered harshly.

"But what am I going to do about the," she began but was stopped by another rough shove into the wall.

"Like I told you before," he repeated in a murderous tone, "Ain't my problem."

He let her go and Cora let out a massive sigh as Daisy slumped to the ground. Marco stalked off, disappearing around the rail car. Cora heaved the door open and ran across the frozen ground to her friend.

"Daisy," she said, carefull to tame her own nerves and not frighten the girl further. Cora put a gentle hand on her arm, helping her to her feet. "Are you alright?"

Daisy hung her head miserably. "Where am I going to get five pounds? Haven't got five pence," she repeated to the wind.

Cora frowned as Daisy stared beyond her, glassy-eyed and numb. Cora rubbed some warmth into the girl's arms, forgetting about her own chilled bare feet. "Come on," she tried to coax gently as she led Daisy to their car. "Let's get you to bed. We'll figure it out tomorrow."

"He'll tell the boss," Daisy rambled. "He said he would." She shrugged out of Cora's leading grasp.

"Tell him what?" Cora asked, confused, reaching for the girl again even as she pulled away.

Daisy flopped to the ground in a heap of limbs, her head hanging to her chest. "I'm pregnant," she confessed in a hollow voice.

Abermarle, May 1945

She bowed as the audience went wild. As she looked up, smiling to the crowd, she saw him. There was something strange about the old man and at first she couldn't quite finger what it was that made her take notice. Most old people had some eccentricities about them, she had observed over the years. But this one just seemed an odder duck than most.

A long white beard hung from his chin and reached easily to his knees. His head was covered by a smart black hat. The suit he wore, she was sorry to say, was not as smart as the hat. Bright purple pinstripes. Perhaps that was what had her taking notice.

But no, that was not it, she noted mentally, her eyes straying back to him every few seconds as she continued with her act. It was the intensity with which he watched her, sharp blue eyes sparkled behind half-moon spectacles. He did not smile, he did not frown. And he did not blink. This she decided was what put her off so.

Well, she mused, her act was done now and she could escape those strange, piercing eyes. With a final flourish, she spun dramatically on the spot and disappeared to the amazement of the crowd. The roar of the audience was deafening as she walked away from the tent, retreating to her boxcar to freshen up a bit before the finale. That was the reason, she surmised, that she had not heard him approach from behind.

"Pardon me," a quiet voice made her spin sharply around, startling her. She gave a tiny squawk of surprise. An audible gasp escaped her as she recognized the old man who had given her the creeps only moments earlier.

"Forgive me," he apologized rather sheepishly, eager to put her at ease. "I had no intention of giving you a fright. That was quite a performance you gave," he complemented, giving her a small bow of acknowledgement.

She scowled nervously. "Why did you follow me?" she asked, her voice pitching up unattractively and she fought to gain control of it.

The old man smiled kindly, crossing his hands non-threateningly in front of his round belly. "I need your help," he answered cryptically.

"My help?" she replied skeptically, her frown deepening. "Who are you?"

He gave another low bow. "Professor Albus Dumbledore," he answered directly. "And you are Cora Barker." He met her eye with a mischevious twinkle, amused as he watched her chin drop and her mouth fall open.

"How..." she began, mystified. "How do you know my last name?"

The old man smiled indulgently. "My dear," he began, "I know many things about you, your name included." He rocked back and forth on his heels as he explained, making Cora feel a bit sea sick as she watched him. "I am a teacher at a very special school."

Cora nodded in understanding, but she did not relax her scowl. "Hogwarts," she answered. "Yeah, I know it."

He stared at her, blue eyes calculating while his funny little smile never wavered. "We had hoped at one time that you would join us there, you know."

She nodded again, her face still shrewd, revealing only cautious skepicism. "I was busy."

It was his turn to frown. "I see," was his reply. "Well, I must say you have had excellent training. One can see that you have worked dilligently." Those eyes searched her face, noticing how she stiffened at the mention of her training. "Your father must be very proud."

Her face was suddenly like thunder. "You said you needed my help," she countered sharply. "What can I do for you, Professor?"

He ran a hand down his long beard, thoughtfully regarding her. "It has come to my attention that a student of mine has been leaving the school at odd hours. Sometimes he is gone for an entire day."

Satisfied that her face lost some of its brittle reserve at the mention of Tom, he continued. "Tom is a very special case. One I have taken a keen interest in from the day he came to be at Hogwarts." Her features relaxed even more. She obviously cared for the boy a great deal. He knew he would have to tread delicately if he had any hope of succeeding. "I fear," he said, his voice pitched low and confidingly, "he may be in grave danger."

"Danger?" she breathed, alert and poised as if she could fight off whatever it was that threatened. "What kind of danger?"

Dumbledore assessed the change in her mood. "Danger from himself," he answered finally. "Tom," he added dotingly, "has a great many gifts and talents. And he, as I am sure he told you, has had a very rough childhood."

"Yes, I'm aware," she prodded. "But what has that got to do with him now?"

The professor narrowed his eyes and she felt as if he were looking straight into her, seeing her deepest fears and worst memories. "Is it so easy for you to separate who you are now from your past?"

She frowned in thought. "I see your point. Tom, though, is a lot stronger than I am. Nothing seems to touch him."

The knowing smile returned to his face and he nodded. "Exactly, my dear. Nothing touches him. A hatred grows inside of him and he has fed it like a fire, all the while keeping it protected, building wall after wall around it. And no one can reach it. Believe me, I've tried."

Cora shook her head. "Tom doesn't hate anyone," she defended. "He's been so kind to me."

"That is my hope," Dumbledore admitted. "I have faith that if anyone can chip away at the stone of his heart, you can. Tom seems a changed boy after his trips away from school. He seems, if not relieved of the hatred he feels, at least distracted from it for a time. And now that he has nearly finished school, my influence over him will cease." He reached out a hand and put it on Cora's arm, noting how she shied away a bit at his touch. "I must rely on you. Keep an eye on him for me. If you notice anything, er, alarming about his behavior, please let me know at once."

A strange, squirmy feeling unsettled her. "You want me to spy on Tom?" Something didn't seem right to her about this request.

"No," he clarified quickly, "not spy. Look out for him. You and I want to help Tom. We are on the same side. And right now, he is his own worst enemy."

This made sense to her and she found herself nodding in compliance. "Okay," she heard her voice agree, surprising herself.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "And Cora," he added before turning to leave, "it would be best if we kept this conversation between the two of us." He winked his sparkling blue eye in her direction, sealing their accord. "For his own good," he reminded her before he popped out of her sight. She turned on the spot, looking for him, but he had vanished.

Shropshire, December 1944

Daisy was snoring in her ear. Blond curls tickled Cora's face as the other girl snoozed soundly on her shoulder. After she had managed to drag the girl in out of the cold and get her into bed, Daisy had begun crying and babbling, making no sense. Now Daisy slept, all cried out, in a puddle of tears and drool. Cora's shoulder was soaked.

Confusion twisted Cora's brain into a thousand little knots, making her head hurt mightily. Daisy's words clarified nothing and Cora didn't know how to help. She was pregnant, that much was clear. But there were still questions Daisy refused to answer. Like who the father was. Or how Marco had found out about it.

Cora kicked herself, wishing she had seen it all sooner. Daisy had been upset about something for a while, but Cora had not cared to hear it. When she'd finally come around, ready to listen, Daisy and Darla did not want to confide in her. Daisy had been evasive and Darla had been downright hostile. Cora pushed away the wash of self-pity that she felt, realizing that it was only as much as she deserved.

But she was here now, that's what mattered, she told herself as she pulled the blankets up to her chin and snuggling down into the cot. Daisy snorted and shifted into a more comfortable position on Cora's shoulder, making soft, sleepy sounds. Cora's eyes sagged and then closed.

A loud bang startled Cora, her eyes snapping open and straining to see into the darkness. Daisy gave a loud snore and rolled off Cora, but otherwise gave no indication she had heard the sound. Cora reached out a shaking hand and turned the gas lantern beside her cot up to its brightest. Black shadows danced like looming demons on the rough board walls.

"Who's there?" Cora called in a tiny squeak to the shadow.

Darla stepped into the flickering light, stumbling a little as she moved. "Keep your head, alright?" she slurred, peeling off her shabby overcoat to reveal her best dress wrinkled and worn out beneath it. She flung the coat over the small dressing table and scooped up the chipped cigarette case from under it. Stumbling again, she finally made her way over to the lantern and held her cigarette to the flame. "S' jus' me," she added unnecessarily and quite acidly. Her eyes flashed as they settled on Daisy snuggled in with Cora.

"Where've you been?" Cora asked in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

Darla snorted unattractively. "You my mother now, Miss High an' Mighty?" She sauntered over to her cot, tripping unelegantly a couple of times. She was most definitely drunk again. She flopped down in a shimmering heap and stuck the cigarette between her ruby lips. She lifted her leg and scrabbled at her ankle for her shoe's buckle for a long moment before giving it up and kicking it off with the toe of the other shoe. The heels made a dull thunk as they hit the wooden floor. Darla tucked her stocking-clad legs under the rough blanket she and her sister shared and took a long drag.

"Darla," Cora began hesitantly, "did you know that Daisy is..."

Darla flicked ash onto the floor and laughed throatily before taking another drag, the hot orange butt glowing brighter in the dim boxcar. "She told you, did she?"

Cora blinked heavily, her eyes stinging from weariness. "What will happen?" she asked even though she did not think she wanted to hear the answer.

Flicking her cigarette again, Darla shrugged. "Not much can be done for it. When the Baron finds out, well...that's that."

Cora sat up sharply and looked at the other girl. Darla used to be such a lively, fun and happy girl, frothy as a soap bubble and just as light. This new version, sullen and angry, world-weary and resigned, was a stranger. "How can you say that?" Cora raised her voice and Daisy stirred fitfully.

Darla frowned into the darkness. "Why do you care, Cora? Now that you're sittin' on top of the world, what do you care about any of us?"

Sucking in a breath, Cora put a cold hand to her face as if the words had been a slap. "Don't say that," Cora whispered, the hot sting of tears coming to her eyes.

Darla shifted on her cot, straightening the prickly woolen blanket fussily, looking anywhere but at Cora. "Well," she said in a more even tone, "it's not like you've had much time for the likes of us, anyway."

"Let me help," Cora pleaded. "I could talk to Marco, maybe..."

"No!" Darla shouted, causing the other girl to jump nervously. "That won't help nobody, you hear."

"Tell me," she begged. "Tell me what I can do."

Darla flicked her cigarette once again thoughtfully. "Well, she obviously can't keep it and still work for the circus." Darla sniffed once and took another drag, lighting her face with an orange glow. "And it's not as if we can hide a thing like that for very long anyway."

"What if she left?" Cora suggested. "She could find somewhere quiet, maybe by the sea. Maybe the father..."

Darla laughed coldly. "Maybe they could live happily ever after? In a fairy tale cotage, just the three of them? Get your head out of the damn clouds, Cora," Darla spat meanly. "Daisy doesn't have two pence to rub together and the father doesn't give a shit!"

"Maybe she could find a job and raise it on her own. Or you both could do it," Cora finished weakly.

"As easy as all that, ain't it?" Darla mimicked spitefully. "Me an' Daisy, domesticated." She took another drag of her cigarette and, in the orange glow, Cora could see her eyes take on a far off and whistful look. "MIght be nice," she finished in a whisper, "to be away from all this, though. A little one to love."

She sat up bolt straight suddenly and looked at Cora, her eyes glowing with the light of an idea. "How much do you have?"

Cora frowned. "Frank found my stash last month. But I've hidden it better. I've got about...ten pounds? Could you make a go with that?" she asked hopefully.

Darla snuffed the cigarette out on the floorboards and lay back on her pillow with a loud creak. "It's a start," she answered drowsily, yawning. "Maybe Mag could throw in a little, too. Anyway, it'll keep for the night. No sense in worrying it over right this minute. Problem will still be waitin' for us in the morning." She punched her pillow and rolled over to face the wall.

Cora closed her eyes for the briefest moment, trying to imagine the Majestic without the two bubbly blonds. She wished desperately to find a way to keep her little family together. Maybe there was a solution, she just needed to look harder. "Darla," she asked tentatively. "Do you know who the father is?"

Darla gave a harsh snort. "Yes, and you know him too." The acid in her voice was bitter. "Had me fooled. I thought for sure he actually loved her."

Cora thought for a long time. "Darla, is it...?" she began to ask again, but there was only the sound of soft snores from the other side of the room.

Dover, January 1945

It began little by little, tiny events here and there that didn't hold any significance at the time they happened. Like the small snaps and groans of a river frozen over, hard and solid as rock, no one ever pays them any mind. But after a few days of fine weather, when the harshness of winter has gone, those snaps and cracks refuse to be ignored. More likely than not, however, the telltale sounds are heard but not heeded and one finds that they are suddenly surrounded, not by solid and sturdy ice, but trapped amidst great chunks in an icy floe, the ground disappearing at once from beneath careless feet. And, finding oneself struggling for breath under freezing waters, the last thought as the world disappears from view. I should have seen this coming.

Those tiny events, the snaps and pops of the ice breaking, were all around her that winter. In every downturned face, every discontented word. Her little family was cracking, falling apart. Daisy and Darla still squabbled despite the fact that Cora had given over every last coin she had to them. They had not reached a decision that made both girls happy. And every day the evidence of Daisy's condition was a little more clearer in the fullness of her belly. Time was running out if they hoped to keep it a secret much longer.

And Joseph, he seemed jumpier than a hare in a hail storm. He was always on edge these days, Cora noted. It was an anxiousness that went beyond worry for the animals who were suffering even more than the human performers, it was true. It was an anxiousness, or more aptly an uneasiness. Cora had tried unsuccessfully to help him, to hear whatever was burdening him. But he seemed to guard his thoughts even more around her than any other person.

It was late and cold and Cora wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and forget every worry that tugged at her restless mind. She snuggled down into her blankets and listened to the wind. It was quiet in the boxcar. Darla had gone off with Peter somewhere warmer, where the gin was cheap. Daisy was who-knows-where with who-knows-who. Cora felt a bitter seed deep down inside her. Daisy had once again shut her out, refusing to talk about plans or what she had done with Cora's money. Cora felt used by her closest friend and it stung more acutely than she was prepared for.

The crowd had been only half of what it had been all winter. The Baron was storming around the circus grounds with thunder in his voice and steel in his fists. Cora ducked into her boxcar as soon as the show was over, cowering under her covers, desperate for enough peace to sleep. The circus could not possibly continue with such dismal numbers and still support all the performers, Cora feared. The ice would crack soon and they would all be thrown into the deadly water. She just hadn't expected it to be tonight.

A fierce pounding on the door made Cora yelp and jump up on her cot, blankets tangling all around her legs. The door was shoved aside and she winced in the thin, pale light, afraid of who it might be.

"Cora," a familiar voice whispered urgently, grabbing her hand and tugging her to her feet. "Come quickly." Joseph was pulling her to the door, his hand clenched firmly around her wrist.

"What is it?" she asked, still weak with fright. "I thought you were Marco or the Baron. Is it Lightning? Has he fallen lame again?" She was shivering as he tugged her along to one of the stable cars. Her thin nightdress was no match for the frost of a January night. Her breath was an icy cloud as she spoke.

"No," he said, the same urgent, quiet tone. He pulled open the door to the stable car where he had taken to sleeping to better look after Ellie, the elephant. The aging beast suffered much from the cold and malnutrition of the winter. "It's much worse."

Cora followed Joseph into the car and approached the giant form of Ellie, who snuffled a hello to Cora and chuffed in Joseph's direction as if scolding him for the open door. Cora ran a hand over her rough, wrinkled skin. "She looks fine to me, Joseph. What's your worry?" she called over her shoulder. When he didn't answer, she turned toward the corner where he made his bed in the straw. She sucked in a loud gasp, her voice catching in her throat. Blood. There was so much blood!

"Daisy!" Cora gulped and ran to her friend who lay tucked in blankets but still shivered mightily as if every bone in her body might rattle apart. The blankets and the floor beneath her were coverd in a thick glossy puddle of dark red. Her face was as pale as the frosty breath that puffed weakly from her blue lips. Her eyelids fluttered as her head lolled against her shoulders. Cora stood, looking down stupidly at the girl, frozen to the spot. Joseph shouted her name and the sound splintered in her ear as brittle as glass. She gave a sudden jerk of alertness and fell to her knees beside Daisy.

Picking up the girl's hand, she gasped at the frigid coldness. "What happened?" she asked, looking to Joseph for an explaination. He was breathing in great ragged gulps and he just shook his head.

"I don't know," he nearly shouted in his panic. "I was feeding Ellie and she stumbled in looking like that!" He rubbed a hand across his face as if he was struggling to wake from a nightmare. Daisy was still there, surrounded by blood, when he opened his eyes, though.

"Daisy," Cora yelled, shaking the girl by her frail shoulders. "What happened?" Daisy's head bobbed as if it might snap off and roll away. Her eyes shot open and she looked at Cora, or rather, looked through her, before slowly falling closed again.

"I got rid of it." Daisy's words were barely a whisper, her lips so blue they could have been stained by blueberries. Cora let go of her shoulders as if she had been shocked by the girl. She sucked in a ragged breath.

"You...what..." she stammered. Her eyes trailed down Daisy's thin body to the puddle that continued to widen between her legs under the blankets which were now heavily saturated with blood. Cora wretched as if she might be sick.

"Cora!" Joseph shouted, shaking her with one hand as he struggled to support Daisy's limp form with the other. "Do something!" His eyes were wide with fear and panic. He put a shaking hand to Daisy's forehead and swept back the dull blond curls. "Please," he begged, his voice hitching on a sob.

Cora took a deep breath, fighting the sensation to be sick as she smelled the sharp metallic tang of blood. Placing both hands on Daisy's belly, Cora closed her eyes and searched. It didn't take her long to find it. Several scrapes and cuts in the tissue, too many to count, all of them weeping red, angry tears. There were too many for her to see. She forced her mind to search them out, one by one, to close them up, to make her friend whole again. Cora was breathing hard now, the effort causing her hands to shake furiously. As soon as she closed one wound, she found another and another.

She could feel her hands grow colder, number, but she pushed more energy away from herself and into Daisy. The wounds were no longer bleeding. There were just a few more, she realized with immense relief, the haze and dizziness making those few all the more difficult to reach. She felt herself sway on her knees, nearly falling over onto Daisy's limp body. Strong hands reached out and grabbed her under the arms, pulling her away. Cora panicked. She wasn't done! She fought against the hands pulling her away, fought to keep contact with Daisy.

"No!" she heard herself shout, as if she were miles away from her own body. She shoved away from the hands and went back to work.

"Cora," she heard Joseph's soft voice behind her, still shaky with unshed tears. "Cora," he urged gently, "she's gone."

Cora huffed a great sigh, all the air wooshing from her body at once. She fell forward onto Daisy in a heap and she could feel the cold chill that had taken over her friend's body. Cora was shaking as if hands were jostling her roughly and she realized it was the force of her own sobs.

Joseph picked her up off of Daisy's body and gathered her to his chest. She clung to his shirt and collapsed. He knelt with her in the straw next to Daisy and let her cry. "You did everything you could," he whispered as he patted her on the back. "She lost too much blood. She couldn't be saved."

Roughly, Cora shoved back from him and stared at him. "She could have been saved. She wanted to keep the baby, she told me!" Cora raged at him, pounding her fists against his chest. He blinked dumbly, caught off guard by her sudden anger. "Why didn't you help her? I gave her money to leave. Why didn't you go with her?"

He caught her fists and held them tightly against his chest, his brow furrowed in confusion. "She didn't want to leave, Cora. Trust me, I wanted to take her away. I wanted to help her."

"Why did you let her do this?" she spat, nodding to the bloody mess and Daisy laid out in the middle of it.

"Let her?" he bit back. "I didn't _let _her. I begged her over and over to run away with me. But she wouldn't."

Cora tried to break his grip on her wrists but he was stronger. "Why not?" she raged.

"Because," he answered her, "she knew I was in love with you."

Cora reeled like she had just been slapped in the face. "In love with me?" she repeated skeptically. "But...she was having your _baby_."

Joseph's shoulders slumped like a deflated balloon. "It wasn't_ mine_. It was _Marco's_. She was in love with Marco. That was why she and Darla have been fighting. Darla knew he was only using her. Daisy believed he loved her, even when he refused to help her with the baby. Even when he threatened to tell the Baron."

"Marco?" Cora croaked weakly. "Poor Daisy," she whispered as she stared at the pale, beautiful girl.

"When I found out, I offered to take her away from here," he confessed quietly. "But she was too kind and too good to accept. She knew it would kill me to leave you."

Cora looked away from Daisy to her hands, still held firmly to his chest. All the fight had gone out of her. She couldn't bring herself to look at Joseph for she knew what she would find there. She knew just the way his eyes would look with that nervous hope shining like stars in a dark pool.

"Joseph," she stammered, unsure of just what to say. She was saved from making a reply, though. Another loud crack of the ice giving way sounded in her ears.

Darla came in through the door of the car and stumbled a few ragged steps before falling to her knees with an agonizing scream. "Daisy!" The shrill, heartwrenching cry shook the whole space and caused Joseph and Cora to jump apart and spin toward the sound.

Darla crawled on her hands and knees to reach her sister. When she finally reached her, her body was shaking in silent sobs too ferocious to escape. She pulled her sister's head into her lap and rocked back and forth, quaking from head to toe. Darla lifted her head blindly to the ceiling and screamed again. Joseph scrambled to his feet, pulling his coat off his broad shoulders and wrapping it around Darla's. He turned back to Cora, his eyes dull with deep sadness.

"You should go and get some rest," he said, settling in beside Darla. She hadn't reacted at all to his presence, just continued to rock her sister back and forth. Cora stood and stepped heavily to the door. She looked down. Her hands were scarlet with blood.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Tom and all things Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. Cora and the Majestic Circus are my own. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringments were intended in its creation.

A/N: Many, many apologies! It has been over a month since I have continued this story. I must admit, this chapter gave me lots of problems, and after several scrapped attempts I decided to quit stalling and just press the plot forward. I hope it doesn't seem too rushed. And for you Tom fans I (and London fans, Sachita!) this one's for you!

Thanks to all my brilliant reviewers! Any encouragement or critique is heartily encouraged. Enjoy.

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Fifteen

The Illusion of Happiness

London, June 1945

"All Aboard!"

Cora heard the foreman yelling up and down the line of cars as she dangled her feet from the open door of her boxcar. The sun was warm on her bare legs as she swung them, kicking the fuzz of a dandelion into a soft riot on the summer breeze. As the train gave a lazy lurch, throwing her slightly to the side and into the door's frame, she felt the great iron and wood beast slowly begin to roll. In her mind, sensible thoughts like "ought to close the door now," and "pull in your legs" were shoved aside. The air on her face felt too lovely, the sun so delicious. She closed her eyes and leaned her head to the side, resting it on the door frame.

It had been too cold for far too long. She knew when the train really got going she would have to give in and retreat inside. To the dark, to the shadows and the loneliness. To the memories and what was lost.

Nothing had been the same since the night that Daisy died. Darla was a walking corpse, smiling and performing when absolutely necessary, but never anything more. She was hollow and empty now. Mag had run off with a man shortly after. It had been clear to Mag for some time that the circus was not long for it. She had abandoned the sinking ship.

And Tom.

Her Tom was so busy. It was nearing the end of his time at school and he had little attention for anything but books and tests. He barely had time to write, let alone visit her at the circus. And she didn't blame him. Her letters had been soaked in misery and self-pity. But soon, he'd written, giving her a glimmer of hope, he'd be free to spend more time with her.

Still. It would be nice to have someone _now_.

A painful little stab right beneath her breastbone caused her to suck in an unexpected lungful of air. She didn't want just someone. She wanted her best friend, Joseph. But he'd made it clear how he felt about her. His pain and longing cut her like a knife and she wanted so much to say the words that would give him peace, to make him smile again. But she could not return his love while she loved Tom, no more than she could have carved herself in half and still lived. It was impossible.

Joseph had barely said more than a handful of words to her in the past months. Things could never be the way they had been. He was just as lost to her as Daisy and Darla and Mag. The very fabric of her life had unraveled and she could no longer hold all of the fraying threads together. They slipped. They broke. Unfixable, unmendable.

"Cora!"

Her eyes snapped open and realized with a start that the countryside had begun to pick up some speed. She turned her head in the direction of the voice, the wind gently teasing black curls from beneath her silk headscarf and into her blurred eyes. She tugged a stray hair from her eyelashes and blinked the scene back into focus. A person, a boy, was running for the train, his long legs carrying him with admirable speed. Neat, dark hair flopping in his eyes with each footfall's impact on the dusty rail bed. It wasn't just any boy. She smiled.

"Tom!" she called and waved, scrambling to her feet and leaning out the wide open door. She jumped up and down, beaming and frantically whipping her hand back and forth. Her face, unaccustomed lately to a genuine smile, was alight with happiness. He was here. Or nearly.

"Jump!" she called to him as he closed in on the railing of the caboose. He leapt the last few feet, landing easily. She watched him eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her bare feet. When he was safely aboard, Cora caught the rusty handholds just outside of her door, mounted like a ladder, and climbed to the roof. Her body was so abuzz with electricity, she had to concentrate extra on gripping the rungs, her hands so eager to hold him, they forgot their immediate task of keeping her on the train.

The countryside was slipping by in an ever-quickening blurr of greens and browns and the wind was pulling at her loose blouse and shorts in earnest now. As she righted herself on the roof, she saw Tom standing three cars behind her. He was buffetted and blown by the wind just as she but he looked so steady, so solid and sure. The smile on his face gave her a funny, rubbery feeling in her knees.

In a few strides he had managed to cross the length of the caboose and he jumped the gap between the nex car, landing on his feet and reaching low to steady himself. As Tom rose, Cora's eyes widened, staring into the distance behind him. Tom whipped his head around, thick black strands of hair blinding him momentarily. But he saw a pair of strong hands and a head appear over the precipice of the train. An enormous man with a shaved head and beady, mean eyes was pulling up to the roof behind him.

"Run!" Cora yelled into the wind. Her heart gave nervous little jumps. Tom raised up on his feet and took off at a run, clearing the second gap in no time. As he reached Cora, he snatched up her hand and they ran to the next gap, laughing wildly.

They vaulted into the air, landing with a loud bang on a short car with a familiar trap door in the roof. "Down!" Cora shouted, tugging the hatch open and shoving him toward it. Tom slipped into the distance. She followed, catching a glimpse of Marco, still two cars back, his face red with rage. She tugged the trapdoor shut and threw the catch on the other end.

Tom caught her as she dropped from the ceiling of the dim, cave-like car. His hands were cool against her bare legs and she gave a small shiver. He lowered her until her toes touched the floor but did not let her go. Lowering his face to hers, he brushed his lips gently against hers, feeling their soft warmth.

She pushed away from him with a small, self-conscious giggle. "Come on," she insisted, pulling him by the hand. "We can't stay here."

"Why not?" He didn't move from the spot, instead pulling her back to him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed close against her, kissing her once more, this time deeper and more insistant.

The sound of someone clearing his throat behind them gave Tom a small start. Cora pulled away again and tugged his hand in the other direction. "That's why," she answered him a little breathlessly. Tom whirled toward the noise but Cora was already leading him to the narrow door that would lead them to the next. A heep of muffled groaning and dirty blankets was hollering after them, a mad storm of swears and slurs all that was intelligible.

"Who's that?" Tom called to her with unconcealed disdain.

"My father." She did not stop as she tugged him into the space between the cars. The ground flashed by beneath their feet at deadly speed. They hopped the small chasm and shoved open the next. "You've met before, remember?" she said trying for a flat, emotionless tone. Still, she could not help the note of venom that colored each word.

"Oh, yes," he said a bit more carefully. He flung the black hair from his eyes and looked around. They were in some sort of barracks-like sleeping car with rows and rows of flimsy bunks suspended from the walls with chains. Cora's eyes were darting around like little birds on the snow and he got the distinct feeling this was not a safe stop either. The car was in a dingy sort of disarray that said clearly this was where the men bunked. But the coast seemed clear for the moment. Tom wondered where Cora was leading them and if the hulking bald guy would catch up with them. He fervently hoped for the latter, feeling the strong, unyeilding wand stashed in his pocket.

The next car was a sort of storage area and Cora finally slowed to catch her breath. "It's probably not smart for you to stay here long," she said as she smoothed the stray hair back under her tattered silk scarf. "Thank you for coming, really. You have no idea..."

"I think I do," he said evenly as he raised a hand to her cheek, running his fingers over the smooth, cream colored skin. A trace of wetness colored it a shade darker as he wiped a stray tear. "I'm sorry I didn't come earlier."

"Oh," she said, swatting the air nonchalantly with her hand. "You have school. I understand. How are things coming?"

Tom grabbed her hand and pulled her into his chest. "Do you really want to talk about school?" he asked, his lips close to her ear.

"No," she breathed.

"Good, neither do I."

Tom tugged the knot that held her scarf over her hair and burried his fingers in the glossy black strands. "I've missed you."

"I missed you, too," she whispered, her lips against his cheek. She trailed kisses along the strong line of his jaw, finding his lips at last.

A loud bang against the door, like the sound of a burly shoulder pounding againts the old wood, making a splintering crack.

"Time's up," Tom said with a grin, reluctantly letting Cora step away. His hand hovered over the pocket where he kept his wand.

With a look of terror, Cora shoved him toward the side door. "You have to go."

Tom didn't budge. "I take it you're not allowed visitors?"

"You're not a visitor, you're a stowaway! Now go. This isn't a joke. You don't want to mess with this guy!" Cora continued shoving his shoulder, but for all her effort she might have been pushing at a marble statue.

Tom stood his ground stubbornly as the small door gave another crack and shudder. He grinned darkly.

"Please," Cora begged, no longer trying to force him to move. "You'll only make things worse!"

That broke the ice that froze Tom in place. He turned suddenly to Cora and caught her hand. "Come with me, then."

"Where?" she squeaked. "If I leave..."

His face fell in exasperation. "What? What would happen if you left? Would they sack you? Would they dump you on the side of the road? They wouldn't dare. You know it."

Suddenly, with a crack like a lightning strike, the door gave way, swinging wide on it's hinges and slamming into the far side of the boxcar. Marco stepped into the space, a ferral grin on his face and the fingers of his right hand fisted around a gun. Marco raised the gun and took aim at Tom.

Tom matched Marco's wild ferocity with his own cold brand of mallice. For a moment he considered puting an end to this absurd spectacle, reaching without a thought for his wand. He stopped when Cora stepped beside him and hooked an arm around his waist protectively.

Later, Tom promised Marco silently. He pulled Cora closer and together they disappeared, leaving the hulking man blinking in the doorway, pointing his gun at nothing.

Cora opened her eyes, blinking in the cheerful yellow sunlight of the day. The grass under her feet was soft and warm. They were in a field watching the great iron snake of the train inch up over a hill before disappearing. Cora breathed a sigh of relief. She was free. At least for the moment. And she felt the light, bubbly feeling of happiness give her weightlessness from within, a sensation that had become quite a stranger to her recently.

Tom wove his fingers through hers and gently tugged her away from the tracks in the direction of a dusty little road bordered by hawthorn hedges. Little cottages dotted the landscape in uneven intervals. Somewhere in the distance a cow lowed and shook its tinny bell.

"Where are we?" Cora asked as she trotted to keep up with him. "It's beautiful!"

Tom looked around. "So it is. But I've got some place a little more exciting in mind." He grinned down at her, his lips twisting mischeviously into a sly grin. "Come on, we've got to find you some shoes!" He tugged her in the direction of the nearest cottage. "What kind of girl tromps around barefoot, anyway?"

Cora wiggled her toes in the grass, relishing the warm, silky blades between her toes. Her cheeks colored a little at the comment. They must make quite the interesting pair, she and Tom. He, in his dark trousers, crisp shirt and jacket, a neat and tidy schoolboy. Her hair tied up like a gypsy, her suntanned legs bare under faded blue shorts and a flowered top that had seen better days. No shoes. She was his glaring opposite.

Tom left her crouching behind the hedgerow as he stole silently into the small, shabby yard of the little cottage. He came back with a dusty, mud-caked pair of wooden gardening clogs, presenting them proudly to Cora.

She took them with a questioning look, her dark eyebrows rising in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with these? Plant a field of potatoes?"

"Put them on," he said with exasperation. "You can't very well walk around London barefoot, can you?"

"London?" Excitement colored her tone. "We're going to London?"

He brushed an invisible speck from his jacket sleeve as she placed her feet inside the too-big clogs. "I promised exciting, did I not? There's some place I want you to see. Some place very...special." He surveyed her, crossing his arms. He pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed them at her new, very dirty and very clownish shoes. In an instant they transformed to comfortable, well-fitting leather shoes with laces neatly tied. "Better?"

She nodded. "Perfect." He extended an elbow and she hooked her arm through it. "To London!"

"To London!" Tom echoed with a bright smile for Cora before they disappeared.

London, June 1945

Moments later, Cora leaned heavily on Tom's arm, her head spinning from the instantaneous travel. It was not her favorite way to get from one place to another, but it certainly was the fastest. Tom did not take any notice of Cora, instead focusing intently on the building before him. When Cora finally felt steady, she had a look around for herself. She took a surprised and delighted little gasp.

She had been to London many, many times. But never had she actually gone into the city, the circus always setting up a good distace outside, near the train yards. From a distance it seemed big and bustling. But now that she was in it, it took her breath away. Buildings old and new pressed shoulder to shoulder, jostling for position next to ancient streets and modern thoroughfares. Everything was dusted with a sooty black, slicked with a perpetual wetness, but the effect was dazzling, mysterious and magical, a shimmering city.

Cora turned to see what Tom was so busy examining. He was staring at a dingy bar squished between a pawn shop and a building that had once been some sort of municipal office. It's windows had been smashed long ago and some of the facade had crumbled. But the dirty little bar looked ages older, yet untouched by time, a literal conundrum that marked this building as different, much different than the others surrounding it.

"The Leaky Cauldron," Cora read, the words coming out slow and unsure like a nursery school child reciting her first exercise. "Is this it?"

Tom tugged her inside quickly. "Yes and no." He didn't offer any further explaination. She bobbed along in his wake as he hurried past the grungy tables and chairs, a few scroungy patrons seated around them, not looking up from their cups as the pair passed. Tom hustled her past the barman, who glanced curiously in her direction. He opened his lips shrouded in a tangle of beard as if to say something. Cora felt obliged to acknowledge him even if there was no time for an introduction. She nodded and smiled his way before she disappeared through a back door.

Curious. Tom had led her to some sort of back alley. "This is...something else," she said with mock-enthusiasm, inspecting her surroundings skeptically.

Tom gave a fake laugh. "This is nothing." He brought out his wand and tapped a complicated pattern on the bricks of the soggy and slimy wall, blackened with centuries of grime. Cora jumped back as the bricks began moving, scrambling to get out of the way, making a narrow, arched doorway.

Cora's mouth hung open in amazement.

"Impressive?" Tom asked, hands crossed over his chest, watching her with smug delight. "That's just the beginning. Come on." He took her hand and led her through the archway. "Welcome to my world!"

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and still she could not take it all in. There were curious wonders everywhere she looked. Everything was miraculous and impossible. Everything was alive and tingling with magic. Cora was speechless.

"I know," Tom said with wide grin. "Brilliant, isn't it?"

Cora could only nod dumbly.

They walked along, Tom playing the role of tour guide, pointing out strange curiosities or bits of history as they went. They turned a corner and his steps increased in speed, as if he were excited or in a hurry to get somewhere. Cora barely noticed, trailing along in his wake, her head swiveling constantly to take it all in. Before she realized it, they were stopped in front of a dark little shop, strange and somewhat grotesque wares cluttering the windows. The painted letters on the smeared and streaked glass read Borgin and Burkes. Cora pressed closer to Tom as she looked up and down the quiet, dim street.

"This is where I'll work when I leave school in a few weeks." Tom's words had her brow pulling down into a frown.

"Oh," she said, confused. "I thought it was always your plan to teach at the school, though."

Tom's features darkened ever so slightly before sliding back to their neutral coolness. "Plans have changed. I have been tracking certain...antiquities. And this is the very connection I need to continue my search."

Cora nodded as if understanding, but not really understanding at all. Tom noticed this and squeazed her hand. "It's something I've been working on for quite a long time. I would like to tell you about it one day."

Cora's look of confusion melted into a warm, glowing gaze. "I should love to hear it. If it's important to you, then it's important to me."

Tom smiled likewise. "It is_ very _important to me."

"You are going to be famous among wizards, Tom. I can feel it, " Cora beamed.

Tom opened the door and a little bell tinkled cheerily overhead, a sound very unfitting the store's general ambiance. "That's the plan," Tom said as he led her into the dimness.

Once through the door, Tom let go of Cora's hand and headed to a far corner where a hunched figure was bent over a work table. Tom and the bent man whispered over some object the man had produced from an unseen fold of his dark robes.

Cora turned to inspect some of the items on a dusty shelf. A shrunken head. A very large and menacing Chinese finger trap. A glittering ruby the size of her fist. Her eyes were wide as she took in oddity after oddity. She raised her finger to touch the giant gem. It seemed to be glowing as if a dozen fireflies were trapped within it.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Tom stated, causing her to jump and jerk her hand away. "It's cursed."

"Cursed?" she asked, looking at the glowing things deep beneath the crimson surface of the smooth stone. "What would happen if I touched it?"

"It isn't pretty," he answered distractedly. "Listen, I've some business to take care of. It will only take a moment, but please," he said solemnly, holding her in a steady, intense gaze, "whatever you do, don't leave the store, got it?"

She nodded but argued, "Why not? What's so..."

He rolled his eyes and heaved an impatient sigh. "Trust me, please. Just stay put." Before she could argue further, Tom turned on his heels and disapeared behind a curtain into the bowels of the creepy curiosity shop. Cora watched him go, then turned back to the strange assortment of odd objects, carefully clasping her hands behind her back.

As she bent to examine a device that had all the apearance of being very fancy, jeweled tongs, the little bell above the door sounded its high, clear note. Cora glanced up from the queer set of tongs and glanced to the door through the shelves of knick-knacks in front of her. Another customer, she guessed, catching a breif glimpse of a figure perusing the table nearest the door. She turned her attention once again to the strange implement.

"It was used for pulling out tongues," said a low but crisp voice just over her shoulder.

She whipped around, a hand on her chest and gasped in surprise.

"During the Inquisition," the tall figure said, inclining his head in the direction of the tongs she'd been examining. "Are you in the market?" When she didn't answer, his fine, linear features twitched into a smirk. "For torture devices? Are you in the market?" he repeated slowly and clearly as if speaking to a dumb child.

Feeling utterly foolish, she recollected herself. "Oh, no. I had no idea what it was used for. I just thought it was beautiful. That is, until now." Cora laughed nervously. The man chuckled along with her, the laughter not quite reaching his eyes, however. His clear blue eyes under thin, arching brows took her measure and seemed unimpressed by what he saw.

"You aren't from around here, are you?" he asked smoothly, hiding a sneer in a smile.

She narrowed her eyes. His blond hair was parted neatly and slicked into place immaculately and his suit was perfectly tailored. Everything about him shouted rich and powerful. She matched her reaction to his expectations. Best not to draw any more attention. "No, sir. I'm not." She smiled brightly, before turning back to her examination, hoping that their little tete-a-tete was at an end.

The man moved closer. "What brings you to Borgin and Burkes, might I ask? Not the atmosphere, I'd wager."

"No," she admitted amiably, feigning interest in a book farther along the wall, giving her the excuse to put a little distance between her and the stranger. "Certainly not." She fingered the old, cracked spine of the book, unable to read the faded title. "I am here with a friend."

"Oh," the man said airily, running a hand along the jeweled surface of the tongs thoughtfully. "You appear to be quite alone to me."

Cora dropped the pretense of browsing the shop's curious artifacts and turned to fully face the man, bristling at the threat behind his soft, silky words. Her sudden bravery caught his attention, amusing him. His thin lips curled into a smile.

"Forgive me my rudeness." He extended a hand. "I haven't introduced myself."

She looked at his hand. Sooner would she touch a viper than this man's offered hand. "No you haven't."

"Malfoy?" Tom appeared from behind the curtain, tucking something in his jacket pocket.

The blond man grinned openly. "Tom!" he called jovially. "What a fortunate coincidence. Look what has wandered into our den today." He turned to Cora once again and continued politely. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Cora," Tom said in a flat, brittle tone, moving to stand by her side. "Shall we go?" he asked her, but his eyes never left the stranger's face. A cold fire burned in the dark depths of his glare.

Cora couldn't believe it. The other man, although not much older than Tom and clearly of consequence with wealth and power behind his considerable swagger, actually took a step back and lowered his eyes, a look of deepest contrition replacing the snide disdain. "Forgive me," he asked once again, this time to Tom. "I didn't realize..."

The man was grovelling! To Tom! Cora was stunned. She narrowed her eyes curiously at the boy by her side. Tom placed a hand at Cora's back an shepherded her to the door, leaving the other man bowed and uneasy behind him.

Outside on the street, Tom shuffled Cora along quickly, heading for the main thoroughfare once again. Cora's mind struggled for some explaination. When she couldn't find a reasonable explaination, she stopped and shrugged out of Tom's grasp.

"What just happened back there, Tom?" she rounded on him.

He blinked blandly and stared without any trace of emotion. "I don't know what you mean."

Cora fisted her hand on her hips. "That man...he was..."

"He's not a nice fellow," Tom answered vaguely, trying in vain to set her in motion again. She shrugged him off.

"Yes, he was mean and nasty, I could tell that," she said, exasperated. "But he was afraid of you. Why?"

Tom stepped in front of Cora, his face just inches from hers. He raised his eyebrows dramatically and gave her a dangerous smile. "I'm meaner."

She shoved his shoulder playfully. "Seriously."

Tom looked wounded. "I am being serious. In certain circles, I'm kind of a big deal. You wouldn't know it just by looking at me, but I've already gotten quite a following." He puffed himself up with mock-pride.

Cora just shook her head. "Who was that man?"

"Malfoy?" Tom asked dismissively. "He's a nobody. A few years above me in school, he was something of a top dog. Then I took him down a peg or two. Turns out he's a better follower than a leader. Just needed someone worthy to follow, that's all."

"My, my, how humble you are, Tom Riddle!" Cora chided.

"Behold," Tom announced grandly, "you are in the presence of greatness!" He laughed and put a hand protectively around her shoulders, drawing her nearer to him. "No, but Malfoy's not all useless. Talks a big talk, but he's harmless, really."

Cora snorted. "Harmless? If you hadn't come out when you did, he'd probably have tested those creepy Inquisition tongue tongs on me!"

Tom waved away the thought. "It was just a bit of fun. He thought you were a Muggle that wandered too far off the beaten path."

Cora stiffened. Fun was not a word she would have used to describe it. "Do you think it's fun to torture people...Muggles, you call them?"

"Torture?" Tom laughed. "Who said anything about torture? He was just trying to scare you, Cora. Lighten up a little."

"Humpf, he was eyeing me like a tiger eyes a filet." Cora folded her arms across her chest defensively.

"I can't say I blame him," Tom whispered, his breath tickling the hair at her neck. "Then again, maybe I should go back and teach him a lesson about eyeing what's mine." He stopped and turned theatrically to go back. Cora tugged his arm. They resumed their stroll along the magical street, arm in arm, cheerfully talking of nothing as young couples do. Cora was very much aware, however that he had not answered her question.

It was dusk when they emerged from the digny bar that housed the fantastical street lined with magical shops, Diagon Alley. The city landscape was turning a purplish black, its shadows stretching for their night on the town. Here and there lamps flicked on. Yellow dots illuminated the dark buildings as the sky faded from orange to pink to indigo.

They passed around a corner and strolled onto a busy thoroughfare. The street was bustling with life and activity, cars and busses weaving around each other in a complicated dance. People crowded the sidewalks, talking noisily, gesturing wildly in a mad swirl of color and sound. Tom tugged Cora along through the jostle of the crowd up to a raised ledge where a paper boy stood next to his stack of wares, crying the headline aloud for the sea of people.

"The war is over! Victory in Europe!" The boy turned to shout to the other side of the street as people all around erupted into cheers. Couples kissed on every side of them. Men slapped each other on the back, strangers on any other day, united tonight by the historic news. Women hugged and wept.

Puting a hand to her cheek, Cora realized she was smiling wide. It seemed like a bit of fantasy and she doubted she'd heard the words correctly. But, yes. The boy was repeating the headlines again. It was true. The war was over.

Snatchng up a discarded paper, Tom let his eyes rake quickly over the black and white sea of text on the soft newsprint, he flipped to the middle, eyes still scanning. Eventually he dropped the paper and scooped up Cora, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around until she was dizzy. Setting on her feet, a hand still at her waist to steady them both, he beamed.

"This calls for a celebration! Dancing, champagne, we'll live it up!" He siezed her hand and pulled her along, elbowing the excited crown aside.

"Dancing?" Cora shrieked behind him. "But Tom, I'm not dressed for it!"

Tom ducked into a narrow, dark alley, leading her behind him. When he turned to her, his suit, dark and tidy but nothing fancy, was replaced by a handsome, immaculate tuxedo.

"Your turn," he said, grinning wolfishly at Cora, nearly causing her to swoon at the sight of him.

Cora glanced down at her floral shirt tied at the waist, her blue shorts and bare legs beneath. "I don't know how," she said, exasperated.

Tom caught her chin gently in his fingers and raised her face to his. "You do know how," he corrected her. "Just like the shoes, only think a bit fancier, maybe." He winked and stepped back. "Come on, then. Let's see what you've got!"

The shoes, Cora thought as she surveyed herself once more. They were still ordinary gardening clogs, for all she knew, they just looked different on the outside. She closed her eyes and concentrated. She pictured her plain shorts and shirt in her mind, pictured the worn silk scarf wrapping over her hair. Then she pictured the exact opposite, something she imagined belonging on the movie screen.

Tom let out a low whistle and she opened her eyes, fearing momentarily that she had fudged it and somehow spelled herself out of clothing altogether. "Not too shabby!" he said appreciatively.

Cora looked down. It was just as she imagined it. White satin wrapped her shoulders in low folds, exposing her long, pale neck. She felt the luxurious material hug her waist and hips snuggly before falling in a silky sheet to the ground. Delighted and very proud of her newest trick, she gave a little spin, the hem of her dress fanning out like an exotic lily.

"Er," Tom said, coming closer, his eyes on the ground. "You forgot your dancing shoes."

"What?" Cora asked, stopping and raising her skirt over her ankles. Her feet were clad in the dirty wooden clogs, their original form once more. She wiggled her toes and laughed. "Guess I won't be turning any heads in these things?"

Tom removed his wand and pointed them at Cora's feet. "Cora, you would turn heads in a brown paper sack. But there," he said, satisfied with his work. "These will be easier to jitterbug in." The same white satin that hugged her body now carressed her feet in low, elegant heels.

Whisking Cora out of the alley and down the street, it wasn't long before Tom ushered her into a swank club that throbbed with bright white lights and lively jazz music. A maitre' d in tails inspected the pair over his large nose. Raising a hand to her hair self-consciously, Cora squirmed under the man's scrutiny, knowing for sure he would find her out. Tom smirked and tossed something to him and his distasteful glare morphed into a cloying smile. The man turned sharply, his tails fanning out behind him and led them into a grand ballroom swirling with elegant people ready to celebrate.

"Relax," Tom chided her beneath a bored but amiable expression, "Act like you own the place. No one will be the wiser."

Cora nodded, trying to mimic his easy nonchalance, but finding it not so easy at all. Her eyes could not take it all in, there was just too much to marvel at. Chandaliers sparkling as if cut from a million stars. Ladies in fur and silk. Jewels winking at her from every appendage of every reveler. She was in awe and it was hard for her to hide it.

The maitre' d showed them to a table near the band, bowed low and turned on his heel. Tom pulled out a chair for her. She sat, her head swiveling to take in every angle. Settling into his own chair, Tom laughed, drawing her attention away from the splendor. "You're going to give yourself whiplash!"

Cora blushed, knowing that she was making a fool of herself but not seeming able to help it. "Being from London, you must be used to all of this...glamour!"

Tom shook his head. "Not at all." He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Not much glamorous about where I'm from. It's called a poker face, darling. A bit of acting. Just pretend that you have seen it all, done it all, and there is nothing left in the world to get excited about." He waved a hand carelessly to illustrate his point. "Easy."

She tried on a haughty, bored look. Tom chuckled again. "Oh, it's hopeless," she giggled. "I'm afraid acting isn't for me. But I promise to try very hard not to embarrass you."

Tom gestured to a passing waiter and soon a bottle of champagne appeared before them with two perfect little glasses. The pop of the cork was louder than Cora had imagined it would be and she gave a little jump.

The waiter stared at her as if she'd just lifted her dress over her head and whistled 'God Save The Queen'. Tom just laughed and shook his head ruefully. Giggling, she waved her hand, bored and easy, just like Tom had, scrambling for something smooth to say. "It gives me a start every time, even after all these years!"

With a lopsided little grin, Tom gave her a slight nod of approval. She felt buoyant with triumph. The waiter bowed himself back into the crowd and Tom raised his glass. "Well done, Cora. We may make a scoundrel out of you yet. Now, to what shall we raise our glasses to on this historic evening?"

Cora bit her scarlet lip in thought. She watched the bubbles chase one another to the surface of the golden liquid. "To peace and happiness?" Cora offered.

"Pah," Tom said with distaste. "Peace and happiness are just illusions. It is logically impossible for everyone to have peace and happiness at the same time. Inevitably someone's peace will cause another's battle. One's happiness will be another's misery. How about...to endings and beginnings. I think that's concrete enough to satisfy me and optimistic enough to please you."

Cora shook her head in mock exasperation and touched the fine crystal to his glass, loving the beautiful ring the two made as they came together. "Oh, Tom. You are too cynical for your own good, you know! Where's the harm in toasting to happiness?" She took a sip of the bubbly golden liquid and raised a finger delicately to her nose. It tickled.

Tom smiled. "If the truth is cynical..."

"Only your version of the truth." Cora took another sip, ready for the tingle of the bubbles this time.

Tom snorted in laughter. "Okay, let's have a case study, then, to prove my point. Are you happy, Cora?"

Her eyes widened and she gave a surprised little laugh. "Yes, Tom, I am."

"Why?" he asked with a sly smile, twisting the champagne glass in his long fingers.

"Because," Cora answered, amused. "I am in this beautiful place with the most handsome man in the room. Trouble seems miles and miles away. That is why I am happy, Tom."

Tom nodded, dropping his gaze to the fine crystal between his fingers. Cora thought for a brief moment that she had made him blush. She smiled, watching him inspect the glass.

"And do you think that your happiness would be hurtful to anyone else?" he asked finally, raising his obsidian eyes to stare steadily at her.

Cora frowned and shook her head. "I don't see how I could be hurting anyone by being happy."

The steady stare did not waver as he listened to her words. "And your friend, Joseph. Do you think he would share your happiness at this moment?" His voice twisted unpleasantly over the word friend but his face remained impassive and thoughtful.

Cora was stunned. It took her a moment to recollect herself. With a pained expression, she gave voice to her feelings. "Why would you say something like that, Tom? What does he have to do with us?"

"We were speaking of truths, yes?" he countered smoothly. "And I was merely illustrating a point. He is quite in love with you, I think. Not that I blame him."

Cora wanted to laugh it off as impossible, to deny every word of it. Tom waited for it, but she couldn't lie to him. "I see your point. But you don't have to worry about him."

"I know," Tom answered smugly, draining his glass with a smile.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips unbidden. It felt like a test, and she had passed. Cora tried to smile, but it was a feeble attempt.

Tom regarded Cora for a few moments before pushing his chair back from the table with a scrape. He snatched up her hand from where it rested on the table. "I'm an ass, Cora, but it can't be helped." He gave her a charming, devilish smile. "The way I see it, you can be cross with me, or you can dance with me."

Her smile wasn't forced as she took his hand. The band was playing a lively, jumpy number as she trailed along behind him through the spinning and hopping crowd. "Tom," she hissed through her teeth. "I don't know how to dance!"

Tom laughed and pulled her close. "Poker face, Cora. Neither do I!" She laughed with him and twirled to the trumpets and drums. Together they hopped around and pantomimed what the swells and dandies were doing, having a grand time and laughing uproariously when one or both of them faltered. Two more songs played on as they attempted ever more complicated and comical manouvers.

"Oy! You there!"

Tom turned, his face painted with jovial laughter. His eyes grew wide at the sight of the maitre' d elbowing his way through the crowd toward them, his face a livid beet red. The enraged man was holding something aloft above the bobbing heads of the dancers, shaking his fist at Tom.

"Uh oh!" Tom said, the heady rush of adrenaline giving his words a clipped staccato. "Time to go!"

Cora whipped her head toward the angry man as Tom seized her hand and yanked her in the opposite direction. Tom shoved his way past disgruntled gentlemen and scandalized ladies, his eyes raking the distant walls for an exit.

"What," Cora panted behind him, "was...in his..hand?"

Tom's immaculately parted hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes, a wicked grin matching the glint in his dark eyes. "A button!" He pulled her through the tables in front of the stage, skirting the band as it valiantly fought for the crowd's attention. Tom tipped his head at the band leader who scowled at him, whipping his batton furiously.

"Why is he angry over a button?" Cora yelled over the noise. She yelped as a hand seized her shoulder and spun her around. Without thinking she brought her other hand around in a fist, hearing the connection with flesh before she felt it, a sick, cracking sound. She put her hands to her mouth as she watched a young waiter flop heels over head over a chair.

"Nice," Tom approved as he pulled her backward through a door.

She called "Sorry!" to the waiter before she disappeared. Cora bobbed behind Tom as he pulled them into the bowels of the kitchen, skirting steel carts and cooks with covered platters. "A button?" she reminded him, exasperated.

"Well," he answered her breathlessly as he continued to run. "Wouldn't you be a little hacked off if you got a button for a tip?"

The door slammed open behind them, striking the wall with a bang. Cora and Tom paused, heads whiplashing back toward the sound. The maitre' d shouted for the cooks to catch the scoundrels. The closest man to Cora and Tom dropped the pan he was holding and lunged for the culprits. Tom dodged him easily, tugging Cora out of the way at the last moment. The cook's arms closed clumsily around thin air.

"It's been lovely," Tom announced to the staff grandly, giving a little bow. "My compliments." He slipped his wand from his pocket and with a pop the two vanished, leaving a very bewildered nightclub staff scratching their heads.

Cora leaned against the wall of a strange alley, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. "Explain."

Tom raked his hair back with both hands, grinning wildly. "Muggles are such fun!" he laughed. When he noticed that she was not laughing with him, he stopped giving her a shamefaced expression full of fake remorse. "I tossed him a button from my coat. It was spelled to look like gold. Didn't expect it to wear off until we were long gone, though, I swear!"

To his surprise, the repremanding look on her face slipped and faltered, replaced by a reluctant grin. "You think you're pretty clever, Tom Riddle."

"Oh, I know I'm clever!" he crowed. "And you! Nice right hook! How's your hand?" he asked, closing the distance between them and raising her hand gently to the light, inspecting her knuckles. They were a little red, but looked pretty good considering what the other guy looked like. Tom raised them to his lips and brushed a kiss lightly over her fingers.

"It was just a bit of fun, don't be cross, Cora," he pleaded, giving her an irresistable look, knowing that all would be forgiven instantly. "Let me make it up to you. I have the perfect place. Quite a bit more exclusive than the last place." He arched his brow at her, luring her into accepting with minimal effort.

She nodded and smiled. "No more petty crime. Promise."

"I promise," he lied with silky charm. "Close your eyes."

She opened her mouth to protest, but gave up and gave in. She closed her eyes. The dizzying, belly-flop sensation told her that they were no longer in the dank little alley and a strong, insistant breeze told her that they were somewhere in the open.

"Okay, you can open them," he said, a firm grip around her waist.

A gasp of fright sent Cora reeling backward. They were above the rooftops of London. She scrabbled against him, nearly scaling him like a tree. He tightened his hold on her.

"We're so high up," she squeaked, looking around. An enormous clock face peered down over them. "Are we..."

Tom nodded. "Big Ben. Amazing, right? I can't imagine anyone has a better view of London than we do."

Together they watched the view, the city in celebration far below them. Just when she started to get her bearings and no longer felt faint from the dizzy height, Tom leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.

He made many pretty promises about the world he would give her but it was the last two words that stole the breath from her lips. "Marry me," he asked in a whisper, his cool confidence wavering. She'd never heard him sound so self-conscious and nervous.

A shiver ran down her spine and the heady disequilibrium was back with a vengeance. She swallowed hard, desperate to sort her feelings. She wanted to shout 'yes' and fling her arms around his neck more than anything in the world. Her heart gave a wrenching twist.

She heard herself whisper the word as if hearing it from some other girl's lips. "No."


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Tom and the world of Harry Potter are the property of J. K. Rowling. Cora and the Majestic Circus belong to me. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended in its creation.

Thanks: **Sachita** (I just knew you would love the fun little jaunt through London! Keep your head up, University can't last forever!), **Uptownsunset** (thanks for the kind words! I am so glad you like it), and **Quoththeraven** (I can't say that I have ever watched Dr. Who...but I love the style of the era so it was a lot of fun to write! And you get your answer right here...hope I didn't keep you waiting too long!). Thanks for all of the reviews! And happy reading!

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Sixteen

The Unravelling

London, June 1945

"No," he repeated her words in a hoarse, disbelieving whisper, unsure he'd heard her correctly. "No?"

Cora felt the hot sting of tears come to her eyes. She had just given away her one and only dream, the dream of marrying Tom and leaving her circus life behind her. It was everything she'd ever wanted. But his words from earlier haunted her. Happiness doesn't come without a cost. Her happiness with Tom would demand a price from her family and friends Cora wasn't willing to pay. The few people she cared about would suffer the most.

"Not _no_," she amended after a painful pause, his eyes accusing and hurt and a little hard. They bore into her, inflicting a wound she felt it in her very core. She swallowed the tears in her voice and tried to explain, to ease his pain and make him understand. "Just not now, Tom. I can't run away with you tonight. If I don't go back to the circus, The Baron and Marco will take it out on the others. I can't let that happen."

Tom stared at her in open disbelief. "Why should you even give them a second thought? What have they ever done for you, Cora? Your father drinks and steals your wages and hits you. Your friends only care about themselves. You don't owe them a thing."

"But," she sputtered weakly, "my father...he took me in when I had nowhere else to go. And my friends do care. They need me."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Of course they need you, Cora. They need your magic. None of them care about _you_, only what you can do for them. Tell me I'm wrong."

Cora shook her head back and forth, trying not to hear the grain of truth in his words.

"You can't," Tom said, a mirthless and satisfied smile twisting his lips. "Because I'm right. Muggles are all the same, Cora. They want what they don't have. And you've been taken in by the lot of them, letting them manipulate you. Open your eyes. You're smarter than that."

Tom crossed the distance between them and put a hand on each of her arms, turning her to look at him fully. He could see the hurt and confusion warring with the loyalty she felt for those she called her family. "You don't need them. You have me, Cora. And I don't want you for your magic. I don't need it. I want you because I love you." Tom pulled her close. "Tell me you need me, too."

"I do," Cora confessed. "More than you know."

"So say yes."

Cora looked up into his pale, handsome face, its open longing piercing her heart. "Yes," she breathed and his relief was palbable. "But let me have a month. I need to do this my way, I won't abandon them. And you have school and a new position to worry about anyway."

His face became guarded once more, but the smile was still in place. "So you do want to marry me?"

"Yes, with all my heart," Cora answered to his immense relief.

Tom scooped Cora up into a tight embrace, lifting her off her feet. "And all you want is a month?"

Cora nodded her answer, unable to catch her breath.

Setting her down, he pressed his lips tightly to hers. "A month and no more," he whispered against her lips. "It sounds like an eternity."

Cora laughed, kissing his lips again and again. "You'll be so busy, you won't even notice. You'll be begging me for more time!"

He pulled back from her reluctantly. "Not a chance." Raising a hand to his coat pocket, he reached inside and took out a black cloth, fine and luxurious looking. Carefully he unfolded it. Cora gasped. In his hand, nestled in the black fabric, was an exquisite chain of brilliant gold holding a ruby, its color rich and lustrous even in the light of the stars.

"This," he said as he fixed the chain around her neck, "I am afraid, is not a ring. But I didn't think an ordinary ring would suit you. This necklace has a bit of history behind it and it took me some time to track it down. But with the help of my friend at Borgin and Burke's I finally found it."

"It's beautiful," Cora gasped, stunned by its radiance. Nothing so fine had ever touched her skin before.

"It belonged to one of the founders of my school...well, to her daughter, anyway. The story goes that she was in love with a very powerful man, and he was taken with her as well. He gave this necklace to her as a promise of his love."

"What a romantic history," she swooned, touching the gem as if to assure herself that it was, indeed, real.

Tom smirked, "Actually, it didn't have a happy ending. She fell out of love with him, becoming cold and distant. He killed her, come to think of it. But I think we can change its luck, don't you?"

Her shocked expression relaxed into a joyfull laugh. "I know we can." She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. "Tom Riddle, I would never stop loving you."

He grinned down at her. "I'm counting on that."

York, June 1945

The moon was high in the sky when the happy couple suddenly appeared in the field where the circus tents had been newly erected. The work was nearly over, Cora could tell. Just a few men ambled around, looking over rigging and equipment. Most, she knew, would be congregating in the mess tent for a long night of rowdiness, blowing off steam from hard labor.

Tom squeezed her hand as they approached, his touch giving her steady assurance that he was by her side. "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked as her steps slowed to a halt just outside of the circle of tents.

Cora was silent for a moment. "No," she decided reluctantly. "It might make things worse. I'll take what I have coming." She laughed weakly. "It can't be that bad, I am the star, you know. Besides, The Baron and Marco are afraid of me."

Tom smiled. "That's my girl." He raised her chin and brushed his lips against the soft skin of her cheek. "You could still come with me, it's not too late."

It was tempting. Reluctantly she stepped out of his reach. "You're still in school," she reminded him. "Would you hide me in your dorm room?"

They both laughed at the thought. He sighed. "One month," he said begrudgingly, letting her walk away from him.

"One month," she answered with a smile, her fingers tracing lightly over the gem at her throat. She watched for a moment longer and then he was gone. She blew out a breath, unable to keep her lips from turning up into a happy smile. "Time to face the music," she muttered to herself, trying to hang onto the buoyant bliss of her night with Tom as she turned her steps toward the circus and the consequence of her sudden departure earlier that day.

The sound of the crowd was a loud roar in her ears as she neared the mess tent. Cheering and shouts mingled in a ferocious sound. A poker game getting out of hand, she guessed as she turned the corner.

What she saw sent an icy shot throughout her body and she was frozen on the spot. A crowd was indeed gathered, but not inside the tent like she'd thought. They were pressing in around a fight, cheering and calling for another hit. No, not a fight, a beating.

Joseph was in the middle of the crowd, barely on his feet, his face bloody and swollen. Marco stood between him and any means of escape, driving his fist into the boy's belly and face and head over and over. Joseph managed to land a punch to the side of Marco's bald head before the hulking man cracked an elbow at the base of Joseph's skull. Joseph crumpled like a marrionette whose strings had just been cut.

Cora shoved her way through the mob, elbowing and scratching past those who tried to block her. She pushed Marco aside and fell to the ground next to Joseph. The boy coughed and spat blood on the dusty ground, gasping for air.

"Joseph," she screeched, pulling his head up to look in his face. His eyes, one swollen to a puffy slit, were unfocused, glassy. He reached a hand out to her, steadying himself as he tried to gain his feet again. He got one foot under his body, but collapsed with the effort.

Marco laughed nastily. "Pick him up, boys," he called to two burly men on the sidelines. They shoved Cora aside and grabbed Joseph under the arm hauling him to his feet. Joseph hung between the two, his chin falling to his chest.

Marco reached back to deliver another blow, but Cora launched herself onto the man's back, scratching and clawing at his face. "You bastard," she raged. "Coward!"

He flung her off his back as easily as if she were a child and turned to where she lay, dirt covering her fine satin evening dress. Marco fisted a hand in her hair and dragged her to her feet. "There's your coward!" Marco bellowed and shoved her toward Joseph, bleeding and barely conscious. "Can't hide behind your skirt if your not here, can he?"

She struggled against him despite the burning pain in her scalp. Burning. She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined the man's hand on fire. With a yelp, he dropped her and she fell to the ground. Scrambling to her feet, she charged at the men holding Joseph upright. Eyes wild with fear, they dropped his limp body and backed into the crowd. Cora gathered Joseph close to her and glared out at the mob, daring anyone to come near. Marco, cradling his burned hand, and the rest stepped cautiously back.

The sound of unenthusiastic clapping drew all eyes to the side of the boxcar that served as a backdrop to the horrific scene. The Baron strode into the circle, his beefy hands keeping time with his steps.

"Bravo, bravo," the Baron's voice boomed over the crowd. "Well done, Marco," he congratulated his second-in-command, clapping him on the shoulder. He turned his scowl upon Cora and she felt an icy chill settle over her. "So you think you are above my law, do you?" He towered over her menacingly. Cora gulped and curled her body around her friend protectively. "You may be able to get away with it a time or two, you're right about that. But, I ask you, was it worth it?" The Baron nodded casually to the boy in her arms, bloodied and breathing raggedly. "Why don't you ask him?"

Cora was gritting her teeth so hard the muscles in her jaw ached and hot tears spilled down her cheeks. "He's got nothing to do with this."

"If that's what it takes to keep you in line, my dear, so be it. Skip out on me again and I won't be so gentle next time. I'll burry him. Or maybe your father..." The Baron rocked back on his heels, satisfied at the sickly, pale shade she became at his words. He clapped his beefy hands once, breaking the silent spell that held the crowd a captive audience. "To bed, schnell! There's work to be done in the morning and you sad sacks will not be laying about."

Slowly the mob broke off in twos and threes towards the scattered tents and orderly row of train cars. The Baron watched them go for a few thoughtful seconds. Then, with a cutting sharpness in his beady eyes, he fixed Cora with a hard, immovable look. "See that he's fit for work in the morning. And take heed, my girl. If I see that fellow of yours anywhere near this circus, someone will answer for it with blood. Blood that will be on your hands."

With a final nod, he turned and disappeared into the dark of the shadows, whistling a blythe little tune. Cora watched until she could no longer see him, then she forced herself onto her feet. She put one shaking hand to Joseph's shoulder, attempting to rouse him, wondering helplessly how she was going to lift him alone.

But as she stared dumbly at the unconcious boy, two hands appeared and pulled him upright. Cora followed the hands to tattered coat sleeved and finally to the haggard and lined face of her father. Frank hefted the boy, throwing one limp arm around his own shoulders, stooping under the dead weight.

"Come on," he urged her gently, "You're gonna have to take up the slack."

Cora slid under Joseph's other arm. The boy stirred and groaned as he was shuffled along but did not open his eyes. Cora struggled to hold up her share of the weight, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other. She hadn't realized where Frank was leading them until she heard the last voice she expected, a soft and worried whisper.

"In here, quickly," the voice instructed them. Cora glanced up and frowned. Frank was pulling them both in the direction of Ruby's plush train car. She was beckoning them, darting nervous glances into every shadow. Cora was shocked to see that Ruby was quite disheveled, eye khol streaked and smudged as if she'd been crying.

Cora and Frank muscled the unconscious boy through the door and laid him gently on Ruby's silk sheets. Cora looked askance at the other woman, expecting a repremand for ruining the fine bed linens, but Ruby was busy fetching a bottle of whiskey from a gilded cabinet behind her.

"None for me, thanks," Frank called jovially as he stepped back from Joseph's side. "Must keep my head in an emergency."

Ruby doused a thick towel in the strong-smelling liquid and dabbed at a wide gash over Joseph's swollen eyelid. Ruby whispered soothing words over him as she wiped away sticky, drying blood. She turned abruptly to face Cora, her beautiful face showing lines that had accumulated from years of stress. "Well, don't just stand there!" she snapped. "Do something!"

Cora stepped forward reluctantly. Joseph was breathing shallowly and every inch of exposed skin was bloody or swollen. She wanted to turn and run out the door. It was all her fault this happened. Instead she swallowed the bitter feelings of guilt and knelt down beside him. Brushing back the thick black hair that hung limply in his face, she focused on the cuts and bruises that she could see with her eyes, and pushed her focus still further, seeking out the internal injuries she couldn't see.

But there were many! She felt a wild panic rise in her throat. What if it was like Daisy and she couldn't stop it, couldn't take it back. Her hands were shaking and a sob wracked her shoulders. She shivered beneath the thin satin of her evening gown. She wasn't strong enough, wasn't good enough, selfless enough, kind enough...

The warmth of a hand startled her out of the dim path her thoughts had taken. She looked up and met her father's eyes. His hand rested on her shoulder, steady and reassuring.

"You can do this, Cora," he told her evenly, confidently. "I know you care for him. Whatever you need, take it from me. Let me help you." She raised one hand from the bed and covered his rough, calloused fingers.

Cora tried again, focusing all her energy on Joseph's broken body. When she felt the sick dizziness that told her she was running dangerously low on energy, she sought out her father's hand, the unexpectedly steady connection between them. It was enough.

Blinking, Cora fought to clear the bright starbursts that filled her vision, the edges of her sight alternating between too vibrant light and deepest black. Someone was shaking her, causing her head to bob against her chest.

"Cora," Frank was calling her urgently. "Cora, stop. That's all you can do." She felt strong hands pull her back and weakly she fought against him.

"Look!" Ruby shouted, shoving forward to take Cora's place.

Cora wiped the last of the spots from her eyes, sagging against Frank's chest. Her father held her close as they both moved nearer the bed. Ruby was stroking Joseph's hand and grinning like a fool through tears.

"His breathing is easy and the cuts are healed." Ruby turned back to Cora and Frank. "I think he's going to be okay!"

It did look as if Joseph would be fine, with a little rest, Cora thought. She heaved a sigh of relief. Purple shadows still shaded his almond-shaped eyes, but they were no longer swollen and puffy, weeping bloody tears. Cora watched his chest rise and fall evenly. He looked peaceful.

"Come on, Cora," Frank coaxed her to the door. "You need some rest yourself."

Cora shook her head. "No, I can't leave him."

Ruby stood and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, a gesture that felt completely forgein between the girls. "I'll stay with him. I'll watch over him for you. I promise." Ruby turned back to the bed. "Here, Frank," Ruby said, holding out the bottle of whiskey for him.

Frank glanced longingly at the bottle but shook his head instead. "Been meaning to give it up. Tonight's as good a night as any, I suppose." He turned and lead Cora out of the door into the mild and clear summer darkness.

Cora leaned heavily on her father's arm, her head swimming and bright stars still blooming against her eyelids every time she blinked. "Did you mean that?" Cora asked dully, mistrust filling her voice.

Frank was silent as they walked slowly along the railcars, the night eerily quiet and empty. "It's something I've been thinking about a lot. Just harder than it seems, is all."

Cora shook her fuzzy head. "Right. I'll believe it when I see it, then."

"Look, Cora," he said, stopping and turning her to face him, "You've got every right to hate me. I haven't been a good father to you, I know that."

"You've been a terrible father, actually," Cora corrected, though her words held no venom, just weariness.

"Truth is," he continued in earnest, "I blamed you for things you had no control over. Your mother chose you over me. I drank to forget that. Then one day, here you were. You looked so much like her, more and more everyday. Reminding me constantly of what I lost, every time I looked at you. But you couldn't help that anymore than I could forget. So I drank some more."

"Frank," Cora whispered, attempting to wriggle free from his touch, "Let's not do this now..."

"We have to, Cora. You need to hear this and I need to say it. We've been miserable long enough, don't you think?" Frank rubbed a hand across the rough scruff of his chin, searching for the words that would fix the years of mistakes behind them. "I'm so sorry, Cora. For everything. For leaving your mother, for blaming you. Every time I hurt you. If I could take it all back, I would."

"But you can't," she answered hollowly.

Frank nodded slowly, frowning. "I know. And I don't expect you to forgive me anytime soon. Just know that I am making a start of it. No more drinking, you have my word."

Cora snorted. "Like that's worth much." She turned to walk back to her cabin but her father's hand on her arm gently held her back.

"I'm on you side," he said before letting her go. "No matter what happens, I hope you know that." He crossed the few steps to the boxcar they once shared and climbed the two rusty steps to the door.

As Frank hauled the door back on its squeaky rails, Cora called to him. "Frank." He turned back with a questioning look. "Thanks for helping me tonight."

He smiled and it was his old dashing smile. "Of course, my girl." With a nod, he ducked into the black space beyond the door.

Cora frowned, making her way to her own lonely car in the darkness. She wanted so badly to believe in her father's promises, to have faith that everything would come out right. But hope was a dangerous thing.

Dragging her weary body into her box car, she dropped heavily onto her cot and tugged the worn blankets close around her. She hadn't realized that her fine satin dancing dress was once again plain shorts and flowered shirt. The illusion was gone and reality shrouded her once again, denying that she could ever escape her cage of canvas tents and mouldering old box cars.

The next day was consumed by routine, checking equipment, rehearsals, caring for the animals. The old, tired dance was familiar and comforting to Cora and she was kept busy enough that not much thought was given over to fretting. The night before had been equal parts beautiful dream and terrifying nightmare. A hand went absently to the gem hidden under the collar of her shirt. One month, that was all the time she had to figure things out.

As the night fell, cool and clear over the landscape of canvas mountains, Cora watched the arriving crowd, absently scanning their faces for one she did not expect to see. Tom was busy, she reminded herself. She forced herself to focus on other things.

Phillipe, the tattooed man, held the enormous snake, Nagini, around his shoulders and bent low for curious children to see, laughing as they screamed and ran in the other direction. Peter was attempting to coax the lion from its cage, but the lazy cat was not keen to obey, instead licking its great front paw. Inside the cavernous tent, where a decent crowd began taking their seats, Joseph and Darla tugged at the rigging, inspecting the catch net.

Cora watched the pair for a moment, relieved to see how well Joseph looked. With the exception of the faint dark circles under his eyes, all evidence of last night's beating had been erased. He seemed completely healed. As he turned his head to examine the tether that held the thick rope of the net, his eyes met hers for a brief moment before Cora ducked back into the folds of the tent.

"You can't avoid him forever, you know."

Cora jumped and scowled, turning to glare at her father. "Don't sneak up on me like that. What business is it of yours anyhow?" She felt a little sting of guilt at her nasty tone as Frank stiffened and fixed his gaze on the dusty ground.

"It's not," he answered evenly, "But take it from someone who knows. I am somewhat an expert in the matter of causing trouble. There's no better place to start than simply saying it."

"Saying what?" she asked, annoyed.

"Sorry."

Cora stared at her father for a long moment, eyes narrowed suspiciously. She noted his clean and pressed clothes, his clear eyes. It was a surprise-she was so used to his disheveled, drunked appearance, that is, when he even bothered showing up-to see him looking more like his former self. The shaking of his hand at his side was the only indication of the struggle that must be beginning to drive him mad. How long, she wondered, before he gave up and turned to drinking again?

"And that is supposed to make everything better, is it?" she hissed.

He regarded her with the same even expression that used to infuriate her during their "lessons" so many years ago. "No," he confessed simply, "It doesn't make it better. It just makes a start. Earning forgiveness is hard work." Frank gestured toward the tent with a nod and Cora couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, following his gaze. "But some people are worth the effort." He put a hand in his pocket and strode past her whistling a trilling little tune.

"Where are you going?" she called after him with a confused frown on her face.

Frank called over his shoulder in return as he kept walking. "To take my seat. I'm here to see my daughter. She's supposed to be quite good, from what I hear." Cora watched, puzzled as he tipped his hat to a lady and gentleman in the front row, taking a seat next to them and chatting easily as if they were old friends.

The performers were pressing in around her now backstage, and Cora shoved in between them, making her way to the fringes. There was less chance of running into Joseph that way. But she had heard her father's words loud and clear. She would have to make a start sometime and earn her friend's forgiveness. She just didn't feel up to the task just yet.

When the time came for her act, Cora felt the old flutterings of nervousness and the feeling took her quite by surprise. It couldn't be because her father was watching from the front row, she told herself. No, whatever game he was playing, she was too savvy to be taken in by it. Was she nervous about impressing the boss? For sure she was on the Baron's bad side, but she was still the star. Whatever the matter, thought, she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"That's my daughter," Frank said proudly as Cora stode confidently into the center ring and faced the crowd with a dazzling smile.

"Oh," the woman next to him commented enthusiastically, "she's lovely! Where did she learn such unusual skills? She seems very young." The woman waited expectantly as Frank stared ahead, his brow beginning to pull down into a frown. "Sir?"

He was a moment in recalling himself, "Oh, pardon?" He had only been half listening to the woman's polite inquiries. Something about Cora caught his attention, made him uneasy and he couldn't quite peg it down. He listened more closely to the woman as she asked the question again, but his eyes did not leave his daughter.

"She is young," Frank answered distractedly but with enough of his old charm that the woman didn't notice, "But she started training with me as a little girl. It's a family business." As Cora tossed a handful of sawdust into the air, transforming it into snow as it fell over the crowd, Frank saw her shake her head as if worried by a fly or something. Then she stumbled.

"So you are a magician as well? How delightful!" She cried, oblivious to Frank's sudden intense focus. "Harrold, we have a bona fide magician for a companion tonight. Shall we ask him for a trick?" The woman turned back to Frank. "We would love to see..."

The woman's words had become but a faint buzz in his ear. He watched every move his daughter made, and with every trick his worry grew. Something was very wrong.

Cora weaved and her shoulders rose and fell rapidly with each breath. She reached into the pocket of her beaded costume and pulled out the paper crane. Frank knew this was one of her favorite tricks, one she had done a thousand times before. It was the one, he thought without any bitterness, that had upstaged him originally. She focused intensely, desperately on the paper crane in her palm. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead and Frank's hands gripped his knees fiercly in response. What was going on?

Cora's burning glare shifted from the crane to Frank's face and all her intense concentration melted into confusion and fear, helpless. Frank shot to his feet, desperate to reach her side just as Cora tipped sideways and landed in a heap on the sawdust-strewn floor.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Tom and the world of Harry Potter are the property of J. K. Rowling. Cora, Joseph and the Majestic Circus belong to me. No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringements were intended in its creation.

Thanks: **Sachita** (By all means, get as philosophical as you wish. I always enjoy your insight. As for Cora fainting, well, that is the mystery. She was seeming a little untouchable lately and it's time to even the playing field), **Sariniste** (I am so glad you are enjoying it. You had quite a lot of predictions...one dead on! I hope you like where this goes.), **poetintraining576** (Thank you for reading! I am so glad how you write Tom-he's a tricky sucker! I find I rewrite most of his thoughts and dialogue, sometimes three or four times because he's so hard to nail down. Maybe that's why we're all so enamored with him), **anonjune, paimpoint, fashiongoddess101** (Thanks for reading! I am so glad you are enjoying it!), **Quoththeravennevermore** (You make perfect sense! I love heaping misery upon my poor, helpless characters), and **Lord Toewart** (Awesome name! Thank you for reading and for your kind words. I've begun reading some of the Fictionist's work, and you are right! Wonderful! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. I also love Sachita's Tom and Iviscrit's slightly more irreverent Tom, both of whom I highly recommend).

The Illusionist's Daughter

Chapter Seventeen

Endless Night

Liverpool, July 1945

"One more time," Frank called from the back of the dark big top. "You can do this, Cora."

Cora frowned and narrowed her eyes, concentrating hard enough to form beads of sweat on her forehead. She saw the beat-up bowler hat on her father's head in her mind's eye, saw every detail of it. Pushing hard, she gritted her teeth, ready for the wave of dizziness to send her toppling to the ground.

"Bravo!" He shouted, holding a disgruntled and mangy alley cat over his head. "You changed it! How do you feel?"

Cora rubbed the back of her neck and frowned deeper. "I feel alright, I guess," she groused as she stomped over to the stands where her father stood holding the feline up in triumph. The cat swiped at his hand and with a yelp, Frank let it go. It darted into the dark shadows. "It was supposed to be a bear, though."

Frank examined the scratch on his hand. "Glad it wasn't," he said with a chuckle. "You're getting much better. Shall we try again? Perhaps another trick since my hat seems to have run away..."

Still rubbing her neck, she rolled her head, stretching her back. "What did you have in mind?" she asked unenthusiastically.

"Something gentler perhaps? You've already tried bears, tigers and a lightning strike." Frank clasped his hands behind his back and stared evenly back at his daughter. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say my darling daughter was trying to do me harm."

"Just trying to get my powers back," she retorted distantly, examining her nails. "If you get a little maimed in the process, that's just a bonus." Cora turned back to the center ring. "Take off your tie," she called over her shoulder. "Let's try something harder. I don't want to be your assistant forever, you know."

Frank opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again and reached for his tie. Loosening the knot he watched Cora carefully. The past month had been harder than most and she insisted on making it more difficult still. He pulled the tie from his collar and held it aloft by two fingers, fighting the urge to wince.

Cora reached her hand out for it, concentrating as she stared intently at the tie hanging several yards away. Her face reddened at the strain. She closed her eyes and pushed harder than she'd dared before.

"Damn it, Cora," Frank howled as the silk tie disintegrated into a cloud of black wasps, buzzing angrily around him. He swatted them, cursing and stamping his feet. Cora opened her eyes and breathed an enormous sigh of relief, smiling. The wasps swiftly changed direction and flew in a single dark mass toward her hand where they reformed the shape of the silk tie. As the last wasp wriggled into place the swarm shimmered and solidified into a unified, smooth surface. The swarm was once again an ordinary tie, one that had seen better days.

Cora laughed loudly, a laugh that was more cruel than joyful.

Frank inspected his hands with a scowl but did not find a single mark. "You've become quite miserable company, you know."

Cora snorted. "You've been miserable company for years, Frank. Stop your bellyaching."

"I am trying to help you," Frank said, making an effort to keep his voice level. "Can't you see that?"

"Well, it's not working!" Cora bellowed, throwing her hands in the air. "I can do magic here, with you. It's hard, but I can manage it. But when I perform...nothing! Can't you understand how frustrating that is?"

Frank rubbed a hand across his face. "We'll keep at it and we'll figure it out. There must be something that's different. Something you do or something you have when we practice that you don't when we perform. Can you think of anything you do differently?"

Cora's shoulders sagged and she shook her head dully. "I can't think of a thing."

"Well," Frank said, sharing her defeated moment, "there's got to be something. It'll come to us. Patience is all we need." Frank rested a hand on her shoulder but she shook it off and walked out of the tent. "You can't keep pushing everyone away, Cora!" he yelled after her as she shoved her way thorugh the canvas, leaving him standing in the dim, cool shadows alone.

Cora stomped her way back to her boxcar, seething with anger and frustration. Pullling the door open, she hoisted herself into the darkness and closed the door behind herself. In the darkness, she slowed her movements, forcing calm over herself. She had been taking more and more joy in being solitary, the boxcar that had seemed so lonely to her since her roomates had gone was now her only refuge. She relished the darkness and quiet.

Touching a finger to the cold candle on the upturned wooden crate that served as her dressing table, she had a moment of sickening worry that it would not light. She breathed a sigh of relief as the candle sputtered to life at her command and watched the warm glow chase a small circle of shadows away. Cora sat in front of it, sagging against the table.

Reaching under the crate, Cora retrieved the old, battered cigar box that held her few treasures. There was a girl on the box, smiling as an unseen boy handed her flowers. Only the boy's hand was visible, but the expression on the girl's face told Cora everything she wanted to know about him. She placed a hand on the lid and smoothed over the worn picture, thinking of a boy who had, long ago, given her a flower. Slowly, she lifted the lid.

Pushing aside a stack of letters bound together with a bit of twine, she lifted the very same flower to examine it. The petals had begun to wrinkle at last and the color had long faded from the deepest, richest red to a sickly purplish black. The magic had slowly faded from the day he'd given it to her. It was nearly gone.

Carefully she tucked it back into a corner, careful to smooth the petals back. Next she slipped the gold chain from the box, marveling at the way the candelight sent red sparks throught the room as it winked through the ruby. She tucked it away most days when she practiced to keep it from losing its luster. But every night she put it back on, needing the physical connection to him. Cora watched her reflection in the mirror change as she fastened the gem around her pale throat, amazed still at the transformation. Before, she was an ordinary girl in her workaday clothing, plain and dull. After, she was something to be noticed, something special. That is what the gem announced, she decided. That she was special to someone.

She ran a finger over the stone thoughtfully before unfolding the letter, lying unbound next to the stack of others. Dropping her eyes reluctantly to the page, she ran her gaze over the words obsessively. In truth, she no longer needed to see the letter, for she could recite it by heart now. It arrived five days ago.

Cora felt her breath catch in her chest and her heart constrict just as painfully as when she'd first read it. The words were so angry and hurt. She had hurt her Tom. Cora dropped the letter and stared at the cracked mirror once more.

The month he'd given her to figure things out had come to an end. But she'd found no answers in that allotted time, only more questions. Her powers had become weakened and erratic, if she had any at all. The Baron was harder on her than ever, bullying her mercilessly to fix whatever the problem was. Frank was intollerable. Cora was used to dealing with the old Frank, but the new Frank was a different dilemma altogether. Most days Cora found herself wishing he would get lost in a bottle and leave her alone. Then there was Joseph.

Cora relayed most of this to Tom and his response had been decisive. Choose.

Cora rubbed the gem at her throat as if it was a talisman that would somehow protect her from the harsh realities of her life, hoping in vain it would give her the words to say. She'd been too cowardly to reply to Tom's letter. The choice was not as simple as yes or no, black or white. There was no right and wrong that she could discern.

Swallowing hard, she tried to imagine a life without Tom. It was agony. But when she tried it in reverse, to imagine a life in which there was no Frank, no Joseph, it was as if a peice of her was missing too.

Cora shoved back from the table roughly, nearly upending the crate and the objects on it. She pushed the letter and the choice she was afraid of out of her mind. Finding her costume, she changed into her sparkles and spangles, mentally preparing herself for the disappointment of another night of failed tricks and pantomiming magic at her father's side.

The act was going well, but yet again Cora's magic was weak and made her feel sick. Like any other night, she and Frank fell back on the familiarity of their old routine. The illusions were old hat and she could do them easily, but the note of falseness left her bitter. She hated pretending at something that used to set her apart, made her special.

As they took their bow to steady applause, decent but certainly less enthusiasic than she'd become accustom to in her solo act, she saw him in the crowd. The sight of him made her freeze. He gave her an impish, crafty grin that didn't reach his eyes which were trained, unblinking and intense, upon her.

Cora recovered and flashed him a dazzling smile, before turning to leave the ring. Her heart was battering her chest like a bird frantic to escape its cage. Was he crazy? She had warned Tom many times of the Baron's threat. Tom couldn't be spotted here. Her mind raced wildly and she couldn't think straight.

"Cora," her father was calling to her. "Time for the finale, get in your place."

As Cora trotted over to him, taking her place in the long line of acts waiting for their last chance to dazzle, she fought to steady her heart.

Frank frowned at her pale appearance. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," she answered stupidly, attempting to peer around Ruby and her pair of horses into the crowd. She could not see Tom, though, the fold of the tent's flap blocking her view. She would have to wait until she was out under the big top once more. Perhaps she could even slip away to find him.

Ruby stood on the backs of her horses, Buttermilk and Lightning, one foot on each, waving to the crowd one last time, soaking in the applause. Cora followed with a fake smile plastered across her face, her eyes roving wildly over the crowd. She could not see him any longer.

Frank waved cheerily and made a hankerchief disappear. As he winked and charmed the crowd, he spared her a displeased look, silently communicating to her to get back in the game. Cora raised a hand half heartedly to wave, but continued searching the crowd.

Ahead there was a whinny and a scream from the horses and Cora snapped her head in Ruby's direction just in time to see her fall to the ground. Lightning was pawing at the air, ferociously swiping with his powerful hooves. Buttermilk bucked and skittered backward. Cora stood right behind the horse's flanks, frozen with fright. Frank yanked her out of the way of the terrified horse just before it slammed its hooves forcefully into the dust where she'd been.

Frank held Cora close as Buttermilk wheeled on the crowd and aimed a crushing kick at the first row or two of spectators. The people scattered with barely a second to spare. The wood splintered with a crack like thunder. People were screaming and shoving for the exits or higher into the stand.

Peter struggled mightily with his whip to keep the lion in check as the crowd ran this way and that. Ellie reared up on her hind legs, but Joseph had scurried down the rope ladder from his perch above the maddness faster than a spider and had the giant elephant settled, waggling her ears in harmless aggitation.

Buttermilk kicked out again, connecting hard with the center pole of the tent and the red and white stripes quivered and swayed dangerously overhead, the rigging for the trapeze swinging wildly. The horse turned and raced off to the side of the tent where people were shoving their way outside. The sea of people parted as one and the mad animal raced off into the night.

"Stay here," Frank hissed at Cora and he carefully approached Lightning, catching his reigns and settling him with a gentle touch on his cheek.

Cora cast her gaze around the chaos in disbelief. Darla landed softly in the net, abandoning the trapeze swing when the center pole cracked threateningly. Joseph handed Ellie over to some of the men before racing out of the tent after Buttermilk. Ruby sat in the dust, clutching her ankle. Cora ran over to her and dropped to her knees.

"Are you okay?" she asked, carefully examining her leg.

Ruby shook her head. "No, you idiot. I just fell off of a horse!"

Cora rocked back and sat in the dust beside Ruby and gave her a withering look. "You're ankle looks bad, but you're lucky. You could have been killed! What happened?"

"I don't know," Ruby answered with uncertainty. "Everything was going along as usual. Something spooked them."

Cora nodded. "Let's get you up. Do you think you can walk?"

Ruby raised herself up and flopped dramatically back to the ground. "I don't think I can."

"Come on," Cora griped, hauling her up by her armpits, "You didn't even try." Cora slung Ruby's arm around her neck and supported most of Ruby's weight on her shoulders. "Wow, you're heavier than you look."

Ruby snorted. "Bitch."

"Cow," Cora laughd and Ruby winced, hobbling along through the tattered remnants of the night's show.

After depositing a grumbling Ruby in her bed with a bottle of gin Cora climbed defeatedly into her boxcar and closed the door. Cora seethed with frustration-she couldn't even heal a twisted ankle! Uselessness was not something she was used to and it stung her pride.

"Quite a night," came a voice from the shadows, causing Cora to jump like a startled cat.

Breathing a ragged sigh, it was a moment before Cora could speak. "You scared me," she chastised. "And you can't be here."

The candle on her dressing table flared to life and filled the room with a golden glow. Tom was standing close enough for her to reach out and touch. "Says who?" he asked, stepping closer. "You?"

Cora shook her head. "You know who I mean. It's dangerous, Tom."

"I'm not afraid of them, and you shouldn't be either," Tom said without concern and took another step forward, closing off any space between them. He raised a hand and touched the gem at her throat, a fond little smile playing on his lips. "I'm glad you still wear this, even if you've forgotten me."

"I haven't forgotten you," Cora said as she nestled against his chest. "It's just so...complicated. I wish you could understand."

Tom rested his chin against her forehead, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. "I will never understand, I think. They're only muggles. And we belong together. Simple as that. No complications necessary."

"Those muggles are my family," she said, pulling away to look in his eyes. "I can't abandon them, you know that."

Tom smiled against her hair. "They won't be around forever. Didn't you see what happened tonight?"

Cora pulled away again, a startled look on her face. "The finale?"

Tom smiled wider. "Did you like it? Exciting, I thought. Very innovative. And dangerous."

"Tom," Cora asked seriously, "You didn't have anything to do with that? Tell me you didn't."

With a wicked smile on his lips he pulled Cora into him once more. "Why would you think that?"

Cora sulked. With her act failing to draw in the crowd the circus was in trouble. Another accident like this would be the nail in the coffin. "People want to watch performers defy death, not the other way around. We'll be done for."

The smile on Tom's face grew. "And you would be sad? Tell me you're joking, Cora! This is exactly what we want. Without the circus you will be free."

A deep frown etched lines across her forehead. Tom kissed the furrows and felt them smooth under his touch. Cora relaxed in his arms. "You could be free now. Come away with me tonight. Right now."

Cora felt her heart flutter at his words. Still, the thought of leaving terrified her. It was so hard to tell exactly what she wanted anymore. Her insides were in a constant turmoil these days, a storm building within her.

A low rumble shook the boards beneath their feet and Cora jumped in his arms. Together their heads swiveled to the open door where a breeze swirled the sticky air beyond. The sky was black and devoid of stars. A dim flash warned of a storm in the distance.

"I have to go," Tom said gently, removing her arms from his waist. He stepped back from her to the open door.

Cora let her empty arms fall to her side as she watched Tom numbly. "When will you be back?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "I can't say. But Cora," he whispered as he stepped through the door onto the rusted metal steps, "don't worry. Things have a funny way of working in my favor. We'll be together soon."

Cora felt her chin bob up and down as she nodded acknowledgement, but the action did not feel true, but as if she were a marionette and someone else was directing her movements. What did feel true was the dull throb in her hollow chest as she watched him disappear.

For a few moments or a few hours, she wasn't certain, she stood on that spot and watched the sky blankly, the clouds black against a night sky that was blacker still. Summer lightning flashed dimly at first but more briliantly as the storm approached. The thunder was no longer the low rumble of a drum, but the loud and jarring crash of a cymbal.

She watched as the first fat drops of rain darkened the wide pine planks of the floor. One, two, three, then a quick succession flung through the door on a high wind. As a gust blew rain against her face, it brought with it the sound of a horse's whinny, wild and frightened.

Pulling herself from the spot, Cora flung her worn out old coat over her sparkled and spangled costume and shoved through the door. She jumped from the train car and pulled the coat up over her head as the rain pelted her, hard and heavy as stones. A quick glance around revealed nothing and no one in the storm and she was about to convince herself that she'd imagined the horse's cry.

There it was again, behind her. She spun into the driving rain and splashed forward a few yards, her shoes slopping in the dirt, the rain churning it quickly to thick mud. Lightning flashed again, casting a harsh white glow on the entire landscape and causing Cora to squeeze her eyes shut.

She stumbled further. Now, out beyond the boundary of the circus, she was well beyond the train yard and the billowing tents, their flags thrashing furiously in the wind. Soon they were small, shuddering red and white striped mountains in the distance. Cora continued to follow the noise until the circus had disappeared completely behind her.

Mud covered Cora's legs up to her knees as she splashed through puddle after puddle and waded small streams of runoff rolling down the meadows, her dainty black satin shoes ruined beneath the thick sludge. Her hair dripped in slippery locks, sticking to her face and neck. The coat she held over her head and shoulders clung to her back now, sopping and heavy with water. And the rain continued to pour.

Cora stopped to listen, unsure she was still heading in the right direction. Beyond the loud rushing of the rain and the cracks of thunder, Cora could hear little else. She ducked under a low oak tree, but even its spreading umbrella of branches offered little protection from the torrent. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and blinked away the water, surprised to find that she was breathing heavily.

Cora spun around and around, looking for any sign to follow. Past the wide trunk of the tree, a wooden fence ambled down a steep hill and over the next rise. Even in the lightning flashes she couldn't see how far it went. But she did see the broken rails laying in the drenched grass, the ground leading up to and away from the fence churned and torn by great galloping hooves.

Shoving away from the scant shelter of the tree, Cora tugged herself up and over the remains of the fence, following the deep gouges in the earth. A horse, frightened and fleeing something, broke through this fence not long ago. Cora quickened her pace, hoping to find her, hoping it was Buttermilk.

The ground, now a river of slop, began to slope away from the tree where she'd come, and she struggled to keep her feet under her. A few times she slipped and slid several yards down the hill, water rushing into her coat, soaking her thin costume. Every time, she pushed her feet stubbornly under her and continued onward.

Lightning lit up the horizon once again and Cora did not shut her eyes to the brutal light, but used it to scope out her whereabouts. The hill ended at a little pond that was quickly growing into a lake with all the rainwater pouring down the hill. A dilapidated barn leaned on one great stone wall, the other tumbled down and barely holding the sagging roof aloft. Connecting the barn and the pond and separating it from the pasture where Cora stood was a post and barbed wire fence.

And struggling mightily agains the fence was Buttermilk. The horse, illuminated starkly white with every flash of lightning, was thrashing and fighting against the fence. Cora broke into a reckless sprint.

She approached the horse carefully, cooing soft words to her. The barbed wire was tangled in her silky mane, cutting deeply into her neck. A coil had come loose from the post and wrapped around the horse's forelegs and ripped huge gashes as she kicked and bucked. Cora placed a steadying hand on the mare's rump, but Buttermilk kicked out frantically, pulling again at the wire around her neck.

Cora took a step back, helpless to free the horse. She took off her coat and threw it over the wire coil wrapping tighter around the horse's legs with each movement. Grabbing the wrapped up wire in her hands, she attempted to untangle it from the hoof closest to her. The horse screamed and stamped in the mud, sending thick splatters over Cora's face and neck.

"Hold still," Cora yelled as the wind snatched her words away. "I'm trying to help you!" She thought desperately for any trick she could do to settle the beast, but she could think of nothing, knowing that her magic was useless anyway. She gave a hard yank out of desperation and Buttermilk reared up high over Cora's head. The horse was about to pound her into the mud.

"Get out of there!" A voice shouted and strong hands pulled her out of the way just as the powerful bulk of the horse crashed into the ground where she'd been standing. Cora was tossed aside, landing with a loud squelch in the squishy mud a few feet away.

Blinking away the grime, Cora saw Joseph in the brief flashes of lightning yanking his shirt off over his arms and wraping it securely around Buttermilk's face, covering her eyes. The horse instantly calmed and stood still, knickering quietly as Joseph tied a secure knot below her chin. Joseph took a step back and assessed the mess of wire, mud and horse.

Without sparing her a glance, Joseph beckoned her with a hand impatiently. "Hold her head," he commanded and handed her the soggy knot that held the shirt over Buttermilk's face. "Whatever happens don't let her go."

Cora nodded to his back and held the horse's head firmly. Joseph bent low and ran a hand over the maze of wire cutting into the mare's legs. Kneelling in the mud, he began to slowly untwist the wire, carefully pulling the barbs from her skin. Once she bucked, nearly throwing Cora back into the mud, but Cora managed to hang on.

"That's one," Joseph said in releif as he pushed a thick coil of wire away from him. The horse stamped her free leg gratefully and pushed her soft nose into Cora's chest. Joseph grunted with the effort of freeing the other leg. The wire was wrapped so thickly around the last leg it looked like a black stocking mid way to her knee. He pulled and twisted but the wire was wrapped too tightly. Buttermilk pulled.

"Joseph!" Cora shrieked. The wire pulled tighter around the horse's neck every time she struggled. A large and angry gash dribbled red onto the horse's silky white coat. Joseph shook his head and rubbed his hand over his face, swiping water off with his fingertips.

Joseph snatched up Cora's coat from where it had fallen to the ground and wrapped it around the thickest tangle of wire at Buttermilk's neck. Grunting, he pulled, his face turning red with the effort. He braced his foot on the post and strained, the muscles in his arms and chest tight with tension. He bellowed in frustration and pulled one last time with all his strength. There was a metallic twang and the wire around Buttermilk's neck went slack.

The wire came free in Joseph's hand and he looked at Cora in a mixture of disbelief and relief. Buttermilk knickered weakly and Joseph turned his attention back to her, worry erasing every other expression. Buttermilk sank to her haunches, whining softly.

"Oh no," Cora whispered and Joseph ducked under the horse's long neck. Blood was pouring out of a wide gash in the perfect white flesh. Buttermilk slid to one side and Cora melted down to the ground along side of her, cradling the horse's head in her lap. She peeled the cloth off her eyes. Buttermilk blew out a final warm breath and closed her long white lashes.

Gently, she set the mare's head on the ground, laying her carefully on the sodden shirt. Rain pelted down all around them. Cora turned to Joseph. He stood still as a statue, staring blankly with dead eyes at the horse in the mud.

Cora reached out a hand and touched his sholder. The skin was cold to her touch but he was not shivering. "Come on," she urged gently, "we need to get out of the rain."

Looking around her, she remembered the remains of the old barn just a few hundred yards away. She tugged Joseph but he did not move. "Joseph," she called to him desperately but he would not budge. Finally, she gave up and sank to the mud next to him. "Fine," she said miserably, "then we'll both freeze."

He blinked and looked at her. With heavy movements he pulled himself up out of the mud and she took his hand, leading him toward the barn. Once inside it was clear that the barn was little better than standing under the full force of the deluge. The rafter timbers dripped constantly and lightning illuminated the many holes. Cora picked her way through mouldering straw and broken farming equipment to a relatively dry corner. With a resigned sigh Cora sat down in the hay and hugged her knees to her chest.

"I'm sorry." Cora didn't think Joseph had heard her. If he did, he gave no sign. He stood, dripping, staring at nothing, making no move. She didn't know what else to say so she stayed silent, resting her chin on her knees and focused on the puddle at her feet. Against her will her eyes strayed again and again to him.

Finally, as if freed from some sort of spell, Joseph broke his statue's stance. He swiped a hand across his dripping face and turned his back to Cora. "I don't understand what happened. She's never done anything like that before."

Cora shrugged but the gesture went unseen by Joseph. "Something must have spooked her and she ran."

Joseph shook his head and walked a few paces back toward the door. "Well look where that got her. She needed to escape so badly she couldn't see the danger that was right in front of her. Now she's dead."

Cora frowned. "She was afraid, Joseph. It's not your fault."

He kept pacing, aggitated and breathing hard now. The solid stone wall stopped his angry steps and he slammed a fist into it. "Is it really that hard to see, Cora?"

She jumped to her feet as he struck the wall. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. This was about something other than the dead horse. She ran to him and grabbed his elbow before he drove his fist into it once more. He tried to pull away from her but she held fast. Slowly she coaxed his fingers open and surveyed the damage.

"There are other ways," he said quietly now, his rage spent. Sagging against the rough stone, he finally turned to look at her face. She busied herself wiping the blood from his knuckles so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes. "It doesn't have to be the circus or him. You have other choices." He closed his fingers around hers, bringing her hand to his chest and laying it flat against the skin, covering it with his own. Cora was startled by the sudden heat that shot through her entire arm. In her mind, she knew she should take her hand away but she couldn't make her traitorous limb obey. "Don't run to him with your eyes shut so tight you can't see the danger in front of you."

"You don't know him," she whispered loyally, as if her words could erase the guilt over how Joseph's touch was making her feel.

Joseph frowned. "But there's something...I don't know...dangerous about him. He was there tonight, wasn't he? Did he do this?"

Cora opened her mouth to defend her Tom, to deny the accusation behind his last question, desperate to say something that would prove Joseph wrong, but the words would not come. She, too, had seen something in Tom tonight, remembering his words, the look on his face when he'd talked of the disaster at the circus. He relished the chaos. "I love him," she defended weakly, as if this declaration voided any and all of his faults.

"You love me, too." Joseph held her hand a little more firmly, stepped a little closer, daring her to deny it.

Cora shifted from foot to foot uneasily. The proper thing would be to let him down gently, to tell him that she did not love him. She loved Tom. But the feel of his skin, warm under her hand, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her fingers, would not let her deny it. She loved Joseph.

"You're my best friend," she offered. The words were a weak shaddow of what her heart was warring with her mind to confess.

Joseph leaned into her and she found herself drawn toward him irresistibly, like a magnet pulling her closer. "Choose me," he said, his lips inches from hers now.

"I'm going to marry him." The words, spoken so softly, knocked him back several inches as if she'd shoved him. He dropped her hand and she was suddenly aware of the distance between them. "Joseph..." she pleaded with him as he backed away from her.

He stared at her, his eyes blank with shock, his face unreadable.

"Please," she cried. "Say something, don't just walk away from me."

He wiped both hands over his face and through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes as if struggling to wake from a nightmare. "I thought I had more time," he breathed to himself, letting his head fall to his chest. When he finally looked up and met her stare, his dark eyes were focused and intense with determination. "I'm not giving up on us, Cora. I'm going to fight with everything I've got until I change your mind."


End file.
